


Seeds

by lightgetsin, sahiya



Series: A Deeper Season [10]
Category: Vorkosigan Saga - Bujold
Genre: Alternate Universe, Multi, Romance, Weddings, a deeper season
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-20
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 16:26:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lightgetsin/pseuds/lightgetsin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Imperial Wedding was a mere five days away when Ekaterin had a startling epiphany.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [](http://castiron.livejournal.com/profile)[**castiron**](http://castiron.livejournal.com/), [](http://regan-v.livejournal.com/profile)[**regan_v**](http://regan-v.livejournal.com/), and [](http://significantowl.livejournal.com/profile)[**significantowl**](http://significantowl.livejournal.com/) for beta reading.

Not even waste  
is inviolate.  
The day misspent,  
the love misplaced,  
has inside it  
the seed of redemption.  
Nothing is exempt  
from resurrection.  
It is tiresome  
how the grass  
re-ripens, greening  
all along the punched  
and mucked horizon  
once the bison  
have moved on,  
leaning into hunger  
and hard luck.  
\-- Kay Ryan, "Waste"

The Imperial Wedding was a mere five days away when Ekaterin had a startling epiphany.

It happened while trailing along behind Countess Vorkosigan, Lady Vorpatril, and Madame Koudelka-Galeni in one of Vorbarr Sultana's most exclusive florists, in a part of the city where Ekaterin had never set foot until six months ago. The air was heavy with the almost sick-sweet smell of the flowers, and Ekaterin suddenly realized, between one step and the next, what had been going on right under her nose for weeks now, maybe even months. The sudden increase in invitations to events at the Imperial Residence, the wedding assignments, the special shopping excursions with the Countess and Lady Vorpatril – everything she had taken as gestures of good-will and proffered friendship, had in fact been part of a scheme to groom her to be Ivan Vorpatril's wife.

Her first thought was, _How in the world did I not see it sooner_?

Her second was wiped out by a flood of blind panic. It must have shown on her face because the Countess, who had been holding up a bouquet of calla lilies for Ekaterin's approval, gave her an odd look and said, "Or not. Perhaps orchids then?"

"Orchids," Ekaterin managed. "Yes."

It wasn't that it was completely unexpected. Ivan had been making it clear for months now what his intentions were. He'd bought a house. A very nice house, ten minutes from Nikki's school. With bedrooms to spare and a room that got gorgeous sunlight and could be easily converted into a greenhouse. He had taken Ekaterin on a tour through its empty, echoing rooms and stood in front of the hearth, looking more nervous than she'd ever seen him. She had thought, for one terrible moment, that he was about to propose and then she'd have to say no, and that would be awful – because she didn't mean _no, not you, not ever_, she just meant _I love my life right now, and that's still new to me_.

But he hadn't asked her then, he'd just wanted her approval, and she had been able to give him that with no reservations.

But for his _mother_ to know . . . Dear God, who else knew?

Ekaterin pressed a hand to her mouth, chagrinned and a little irritated with herself. They'd been seeing each other for months – eating dinner in little romantic cafes, walking through the municipal botanical gardens at night, and apparently confounding everyone who had ever met Ivan Vorpatril. He'd never said, but Ekaterin suspected he enjoyed that bit.

He'd opened his life to her and drawn her up into the dizzily rarefied atmosphere of his social circle. And she would never forget the way he had smiled when she'd screwed up her courage to return the favor and invited him to accompany her to Nikki's school play.

She knew what he had been thinking all along, and in retrospect it was obvious what everyone else must be thinking right along with him. The only interested party whose thoughts remained murky to her was herself. Ekaterin bit her lip. She knew avoidance when she saw it, and all things considered, it would have to stop.

She managed not to stutter and fumble her way through the afternoon, but just barely. Fortunately, everyone was sufficiently distracted that it didn't seem to matter much. They dropped her at her aunt and uncle's house several hours later, so she could dress for the party later that night at Vorkosigan House in honor of Miles's special off-planet guests. They had arrived downside that afternoon while she had been scrutinizing floral arrangements and having a quiet panic attack.

Ekaterin found Nikki in the kitchen, assembling an enormous sandwich. "You know," she said, watching him with bemusement, "they _are_ going to have food at the party tonight." She began arranging the bouquet she had been unable to resist at the shop in her favorite blue-tinged crystal vase.

"S'not for three hours," Nikki said through a mouthful of vat turkey and cheese.

"True," she said, unable to argue with this fact. "Did you pick up your suit from the cleaner's on the way home?"

"Yeah."

"Good. And you're going with Aunt Helena and Uncle Harold, you said, yes?"

"Yeah," he said, swallowing.

Ekaterin nodded, feeling, as she often did, a pang of guilt for the changes that had occurred in Nikki's life since she'd begun seeing Ivan. Six months ago, being seen on the newsvid by all his friends would have thrilled him; now it was something to avoid. She lingered over the bouquet, picking needlessly at a perfect rose bud. "Nikki," she said after a moment.

"Uh oh," he said. "What? I didn't do it."

She smiled briefly. "No, no. I was just . . . do you like Lord Ivan?"

He rolled his eyes. "Mother . . ."

"I'm serious, Nikki."

"Yeah, I guess. He's okay."

It was not a ringing endorsement, but she didn't know what she had expected. She must have looked disappointed because after a moment Nikki relented and said, "I like him." There was a long, rather loaded pause, and then he asked, "Do _you_ like him?"

"Yes," she said, smiling a little. "I do. But, you know, there's two of us." She reached over – up, actually – and briefly rested her hand on his dark hair, as she had done when she'd still been taller than him. To her surprise, he didn't immediately shrug away – but after a moment he took a huge bite out of his sandwich, which seemed to signal the end of the conversation. Satisfied, she set her bouquet in the window, where the vase would catch the morning light.

*~*~*

 

Ekaterin dressed that night in a dark red gown with silver embroidery. The dress, along with several others, had been a gift from Lady Vorpatril, and it was far more Vorishly feminine than anything she had ever owned before. She had been almost embarrassed by it at first, until she had realized that, with the wedding quickly approaching, she would be attending more formal dinners and parties than her two good dresses could withstand. Lady Alys had proffered the gifts wrapped in the suggestion that Ekaterin accept them as part of her fee for her work on the Imperial gardens. Ekaterin had allowed this probable sop to her pride without comment, and accepted the dresses with slightly uncomfortable gratitude. Now, though, she had to wonder if she hadn't missed another meaning entirely.

She added a diamond necklace and earrings that Countess Vorkosigan had loaned her for the spate of wedding week functions, and eyed herself critically.

"Lady Ekaterin Vorpatril," she murmured to herself, testing it out on her tongue, and frowned. She and Ivan were going to need to have a very serious talk soon.

Her aunt and uncle had left with Nikki by the time Ivan arrived. He helped her arrange her dress in his groundcar – arranged it for her, really, since she had no idea how to manage such clothes – and settled in beside her. "No Nikki?" he asked.

"He went with my aunt and uncle."

"Ah," he said. He looked at her for a moment, and then surprised her with a kiss. She stiffened briefly, remembering the conversation she'd meant to have with him, but then she just relaxed against him. He was, she had to admit, a wonderful kisser, his hand a steady pressure on the back of her neck, just below the clasp of her necklace, his mouth warm and gentle on hers. His other hand twined their fingers together.

After a moment, though, she pulled away and said, "Ivan."

"What?" he asked. Then, in a tone rather reminiscent of Nikki's that afternoon, "What is it?"

She bit her lip. "Did you know your mother thinks we're getting married?"

"Ah," he said, and turned so he was facing forward again, though he didn't let go of her hand. "Yes. I did know that. How long have _you_ known that?"

"Just since this afternoon," she said. "Tell me, when was this decision made? Because I don't remember being consulted."

"It wasn't," he said quickly. "Of course not."

She extracted her hand from his, gently but firmly. "Then why all the . . . social instruction?"

"I don't know what –"

"Don't lie to me, Ivan. Don't you ever lie to me."

He was silent for a time. She let him stew. "I'm sorry," he said at last. "I didn't actually say anything to her, you understand, but she's noticed . . . things." He smiled briefly. "The house gave me away." He took a deep breath. "I didn't think you objected so strongly."

"What I object to is being groomed to be your wife with no one stopping to ask if that's even what I want! I'm not going to be your mother, Ivan."

"Oh God, I _hope_ not."

"I'm not going to be your social director. I'm not good at that sort of thing. This" – she gestured at her dress and her jewelry – "this isn't me. I grub around in gardens all day. I smell like compost half the time. And that's not going to change."

"I don't want it to," Ivan said quickly. She gave him a sharp look. "Really."

"Then why didn't you stop your mother? Or at least warn me?"

"I . . . I . . ." He shrugged helplessly. "I didn't think you'd mind."

"Well, I do."

"I see that now."

"Don't take that tone, like you're trying to calm me down." Her voice was strangely high-pitched, she realized. She swallowed, turned away to look out the window.

Ivan was silent for a moment. "I didn't think . . . I mean, I'm sorry. But I thought we had an understanding."

"What understanding? Have you _asked_ me anything?"

"No, but I bought a house."

"Right. You bought a house and your mother bought me a few dresses, and no one ever _asked_ me!"

"Lord Ivan," the driver said suddenly, and Ekaterin realized that they had arrived at Vorkosigan House. She took a deep breath, pushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear, and waited until Ivan had climbed out and offered her his hand. She made sure her skirts were properly in place and slipped her arm through the crook of Ivan's elbow. She hoped her smile wasn't too terribly fixed, not that anyone was paying her much attention these days, with Miles and the Emperor to focus on.

A short walk through the gauntlet of holovid recorders and then they were inside, in the black and white tiled hall. An ImpSec agent confirmed their identities and Armsman Roic took her wrap and showed them into the ballroom, where everyone had gathered for pre-dinner drinks. She slipped her arm from Ivan's as they entered. She felt more than heard him sigh, and experienced a flash of guilt that she as quickly quashed. She had ended too many arguments with Tien too quickly out of guilt.

Tonight was to be an intimate party, Ekaterin had been informed, close friends and family only, the last such gathering before the spectacle of the wedding. Still, Ekaterin was reminded, glancing around, just how many friends and relatives Miles had. She recognized most of them – there were the Koudelkas, standing with Miles's parents and Miles's Betan grandmother, to whom Ekaterin had been introduced when she'd arrived the previous week. And there were her aunt and uncle – and Nikki, who, Ekaterin saw with some surprise, was not hovering over the table of appetizers, but rather talking to a man wearing a gray and white uniform. Plus the usual crowd of Progressive Party Counts and their heirs. There were at least fifty people altogether. So much for intimate.

The galactic guests in whose honor the party was being held were gathered around Miles, who was fairly crackling with energy tonight. He looked himself again, Ekaterin decided, eyeing him critically, if perhaps still a few pounds thinner than before the events of six months ago. The Emperor stood unobtrusively at his fiancé's shoulder, smiling in his usual quiet, understated way and letting Miles do all the talking.

"Ah, Ekaterin, Ivan, there you are!" Miles said, catching sight of them and waving them over. There followed a bewildering flurry of introductions, complete with military ranking: the Bothari-Jeseks and their two children, whose arrival the Countess had been anticipating for weeks now; a Commodore Tung and his wife, come all the way from Earth; Bel Thorne, who had come from some place Ekaterin had never even heard of, and who confused her for a moment until she heard its flat Betan accent in its warm alto voice, and realized that it must be a Betan hermaphrodite; Arde Mayhew, Nikki's new friend, who drifted up during the proceedings and turned out to be a jump pilot (thus clearing up all of Ekaterin's confusion about Nikki's willingness to speak to a strange adult); and, finally, Admiral Elli Quinn, a striking woman who wore her gray and white dress uniform like a second skin. Admiral Quinn shook Ekaterin's hand and smiled at her in a curious, coolly assessing way that Ekaterin found extremely unnerving.

To Ekaterin's relief, they went into dinner before things could become awkward. She found her place card between Ivan's and Kareen Koudelka's, which was at least half pleasant. She spent most of the meal chatting with Kareen about Beta Colony and her own upcoming wedding with Lord Mark, leaving Ivan to his own devices. She could not continue to give him the cold shoulder forever, Ekaterin knew, especially with the number of formal dinners and luncheons she had agreed to accompany him to over the next week, but neither was she willing to let him think that things were all right between them when they weren't. Not that it was entirely Ivan's fault, Ekaterin thought. But it was much easier to be annoyed with him than with his mother, and he really should have known better.

After dinner they returned to the ballroom for dancing. She managed to evade Ivan on the way in, before he could pull her onto the dance floor and weaken her resolve, something he seemed to do all too easily. She stood just inside the door to the garden, enjoying the warm evening breezes blowing in from outside, and watched as Miles and the Emperor opened the dancing. Miles suffered himself to be led tonight, Ekaterin noted with amusement, with only a subtly martyred expression.

"They do make an interesting couple, don't they?" someone said at Ekaterin's shoulder. She jumped, and turned to see Elena Bothari-Jesek smiling at her and cradling her sleeping son, who Ekaterin judged to be no more than four months old.

"Yes," Ekaterin said, glancing back at the two of them. "But they . . . work."

"Good," Elena said, stepping closer and shifting the baby slightly. "I have to say, I would have never expected it."

"I don't think many people did," Ekaterin said with a smile. The dance ended then, and other couples began drifting onto the floor. Ekaterin turned to Elena. "Your son is beautiful."

"Thank you. Is yours here tonight?"

"Yes, over there." Ekaterin pointed out Nikki, who was sitting with Pym's son Arthur in a ring of chairs off to the side, obviously spurning the dancing. She was mildly unnerved by the idea that people had been talking about her, especially now that she realized what they'd most likely been saying.

Elena squinted over, smiling and waving to Nikki when she caught his eye. He lifted a cautious hand in reply, and Ekaterin sighed internally at the open wariness on his face.

"Miles said you've raised him by yourself?" Elena asked.

Ekaterin opened her mouth to say no, that Nikki's father had been around until four years ago, but what she said instead was, "For the most part, yes. I do have my aunt and uncle now, which is wonderful."

"And you also have Ivan," said Elena.

"Er," said Ekaterin, withdrawing minutely.

Elena's husband approached just then and touched his wife on the arm. "Dance with me?"

"Oh," said Elena, shifting the baby. "Let me just run him upstairs –"

"I can take him," Ekaterin said impulsively.

"Oh," said Elena uncertainly. She glanced over to Nikki again, then, apparently satisfied that he seemed to have all appropriate limbs, she nodded and handed the baby over. "If he gets fussy you can just take him upstairs and I'll be right up," she said. "Thank you."

Ekaterin nodded and tucked the warm little bundle closer. Even with a spit-up cloth marring the line of her shoulder, she was doing no favors for the beautiful dress, but she didn't much care. A tiny hand tangled itself in her necklace, and she drifted back from the crowd.

Holding a baby had the entirely unlooked for advantage of keeping almost everyone male clear of her. It seemed to work particularly well on Ivan, who appeared about to approach from across the room until he spotted her cargo. Ekaterin waved reassuringly to Elena, who stepped out into a second dance, and then a third.

The baby began to fuss just as the music struck up again, and Ekaterin hesitated. Elena looked to be having a lovely time, and Ekaterin remembered all too well the constant bombardment of worries and calculations and adjustments that an infant required. Little Miles made up her mind for her with an unhappy yelp, and Ekaterin turned hastily for the door.

She suspected he was suffering from nothing more serious than a little over-stimulation, so she turned into the library to settle him down. She was half a dozen steps into the room, the doors swinging shut behind her, before she realized it was already occupied.

"Oh," she said, coming to an uncertain halt. "I'm sorry, Sire, I didn't mean to disturb you."

The Emperor looked up from his book, and Ekaterin dearly wished she knew what the minute flicker of expression in those calm eyes meant. "Not at all," he said, and beckoned her to the sofa with him. "Is that Miles's namesake?"

"He's demanding a little more focused attention," said Ekaterin, crossing the room.

"Hmm," murmured the Emperor. "How . . . unsurprising."

Ekaterin paused next to him. "Would you like to hold him?"

He blinked. "I . . . yes, I would." He slid his booted feet off the antique table and sat up straight as if at attention, before offering up his hands. Ekaterin placed Miles in them, draped the cloth over the Emperor's shoulder, and hovered to watch. "Sire?" she said hesitantly, after a moment of observation. "Have you ever held a baby before?"

"No," he said ruefully. "They tend not to come to my notice very often."

"Well," said Ekaterin, and found herself reaching out, resettling Miles and guiding his hands. "Just make sure you support his head – shift him up a little – there we are."

She stepped back, and the Emperor blinked down in mild surprise at the little creature cuddled up against the fine embroidery of his tunic.

"Well, hello there," he said, bemused. "I'm afraid your parents have let themselves in for no end of trouble, letting you come under the influence of the original Miles." He fell silent, staring down at the tiny face framed by a shock of black hair. Ekaterin seated herself on the other end of the sofa and listened to the music drifting through the closed library door. After a moment he looked up and said, "It's . . . strange to think that I'm going to have one of these very soon."

"You'll learn fast," Ekaterin assured him. "Not that it isn't terrifying at first." Or permanently, she privately added.

"I can imagine. Your Nikki seems to have turned out very well though. Have you and Ivan talked about children?"

Ekaterin stiffened. The Emperor must have seen it because he said quickly, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"No, it's fine," she said. "It's just that I've recently realized that everyone has been making certain assumptions about Lord Ivan and me."

"Ah."

"It's not that –" She broke off, realizing that the last thing the Emperor needed was to hear her complaining. "Well," she finally said. "Suffice it to say that I've had enough of people making my decisions for me."

"I see." He paused. "I had many people making my decisions for me until I reached my majority," he offered after a moment. "Probably some of the same people, actually. They do mean well, I hope you know."

"Oh yes, I know, Sire," she sighed. "And . . . I do care about Ivan. But I never wanted to be forced into marrying again – not that I was before, but my family just assumed that it was what I wanted. Which is very like what seems to be happening here." She bit her lip. "They all meant well, too."

"Hmm," he said.

In the silence that followed, Ekaterin sneaked a glance at the book he had been reading before she had interrupted him. It was a very old book, obviously from the Time of Isolation, but she couldn't tell anything more without picking it up, and she didn't want to appear intrusive.

"It's just a biography of one of my ancestors," the Emperor said, startling her. "I was using it to divert myself."

"Don't you like . . ?" Ekaterin gestured to the door, indicating the party beyond.

"Sometimes," he said heavily. "And sometimes, like tonight, it just makes me very tired." He did look tired, she noticed, dark smudges beneath his eyes and strained lines around his mouth. "I should probably make an appearance soon though. Miles will start to wonder."

"His guests seem very nice," Ekaterin ventured.

"Oh yes," he said, a bit absently. He glanced down at baby Miles and adjusted the blanket around his face. "I've met some of them before."

"When?" she asked, surprised.

"A long time ago," he said, looking up. She couldn't read the expression on his face, but he looked as though he were remembering something rather painful. After a moment he grimaced, and said, "When I was much younger and, I hope, more stupid than I am now."

"Oh," she said.

There was a sharp rap at the door, and then Miles stuck his head in. "Ah, there you both are." He came in and shut the door behind him. He surveyed them, looking mildly bemused. "Are you hiding?"

"Yes," the Emperor said, at the same moment Ekaterin said, "No."

"Your namesake was fussy," she said when Miles quirked his eyebrow at them.

"I see." He went and stood over the baby, reached down and let a tiny hand grasp his finger. Then he looked up and met the Emperor's eyes. It was a very private look, and Ekaterin glanced away, discomfited.

"You should come out," Miles said quietly to the Emperor. "Your absence is conspicuous."

"I know," the Emperor sighed. "I just needed a few minutes." He turned to Ekaterin. "Here," he said, transferring the baby to her arms.

"Elena is probably wondering where I disappeared to with him," Ekaterin said, standing.

To her surprise, Miles reached out and stopped her with a hand on her arm as she passed. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," she said.

"Are you?" Another quirk of the eyebrow. "Because Ivan doesn't look like you are." Her mouth thinned. Miles shook his head. "I did try to tell them, you know," he said. "So did Ivan, actually. But my aunt can be very stubborn –"

"Now there is an understatement," the Emperor murmured.

"Especially since Ivan has never shown any level of seriousness about anyone before. And . . . he did buy you a house."

"He did _not_ buy me a house," she said indignantly.

"Ekaterin."

She blew out her breath in exasperation. "All right, possibly he bought a house that might, in theory, be perfect for me. That does not mean that I ever, at any point, agreed to marry him. I am under no obligation." Her voice was too high again, like it had been in the car earlier. She took a deep breath. "And I resent the fact that everyone thinks that because he bought a house, he has therefore bought _me_."

"That is not what they think. And I knew you would resent it. Just . , . perhaps you want to go easy on Ivan. He's stuck between you and Lady Alys. _I_ have sympathy for him, and I generally don't for Ivan."

She pursed her lips and made her exit with as much dignity as possible. Back in the ballroom, she handed her charge off to his mother, who looked flushed and happy from dancing, but also glad to have him back. Then she surveyed the room and finally located Ivan standing with his back up against the wall, glowering at the cheerful, whirling dancers. Ekaterin selected a glass of spiced white wine off a passing tray, took a deep breath, and wove her way toward him through the crowd.

"You're going to make ImpSec nervous if you keep glaring like that," she informed him.

"I take it my interfering cousin talked to you."

"Yes." She sipped her wine. "Both of them." He raised an eyebrow at her. "We need to talk about this eventually," she said. "But not now. Here, have a drink." She handed him her glass.

He blinked, straightened, and let loose one of those sudden, overpowering grins. "I'd rather have a dance," he said, setting it aside and leading her out onto the dance floor. By the third dance she was considerably more relaxed – until she looked up and saw Lady Alys and Countess Vorkosigan watching them. The Countess was merely smiling, but Lady Alys looked . . . satisfied. Ivan followed her gaze and winced. Ekaterin merely shook her head. _Just keep dancing_, she told herself.

Miles claimed her for the dance after that, and then, to her surprise, the Emperor himself.

"Thank God," he muttered to her. "I've spent the last two dances with Elli Quinn. She kept trying to lead. It's worse than dancing with Miles."

Ekaterin glanced over to where the lady Admiral was holding court with a number of Barrayaran men – and a few women as well – who appeared rather stunned. She would do well to watch herself, Ekaterin thought; many of those men were married. "She is . . . striking."

"She intimidates the hell out of me," the Emperor admitted.

"You could let her lead," Ekaterin said with a smile. "I've always thought that was a silly rule myself."

"Oh?" The subtle pressure at her hand suddenly ceased. He raised his eyebrows at her. "Go ahead then, Madame Vorsoisson. Lead me."

She swallowed her surprise. "I'm sorry, Sire, I didn't mean to be impudent."

"You weren't," he sighed, and picked up her hand again. "And _I'm_ sorry. I didn't mean to catch you off guard." He glanced around. "To be completely honest, I feel very ill at ease in this crowd."

_Why are you telling me_? Ekaterin managed not to say it out loud, but just barely. "So do I," she finally admitted. "But then, I usually do."

"You shouldn't. Whether or not you and Ivan are going to . . . well. You shouldn't. You are the equal of anyone in this room."

"Thank you, Sire," she managed. "But neither then should you. You are . . ." She hesitated. "A very great man," she finally said.

The dance was winding down. "Thank you," he said, but she had the sense that it had not been the right thing to say, that it had not reassured him in the slightest. But, she thought, noting once more the exhaustion evident in his face, she didn't think that anything she could say would reassure him in any way that would matter. He began to lead her over to where Ivan stood talking with Elena, and she was struck by the urge to say something to him, something more than the unthinking platitudes she knew people must feed him daily.

But the words didn't come and he handed her off to Ivan with a smile and flourish. He drifted away after only a moment, and when next Ekaterin saw him, he was disappearing into the library once more, a glass of wine in hand.

"Did you have a good time?" Ivan asked her, hours later in the car on the way home.

"Yes," she said. Her feet hurt and she slipped her shoes off, though it meant she would have to pad up the walkway in stocking feet. After a moment, Ivan reached down and pulled her feet onto his lap, where he began to rub them. A sound very like a cat's purr escaped her throat before she could stop it and he flashed a grin at her in the darkness. She settled back, enjoying the gentle buzz from the wine and the dancing and the late hour.

"I'll talk to my mother," he said into the silence.

She opened her eyes. "Thank you."

He was visibly relieved, and had the good sense not to speak for a bit, letting his hands work their magic on her mood as well as her feet. "I didn't see Nikki leave with your aunt and uncle," he said at last.

"He's spending the night with Arthur Pym," Ekaterin said. Ivan slid a thumb up the arch of her foot and her toes curled.

"Ah." There was a rather long silence and then Ivan said, quietly, "Would you like to come home with me?"

Ekaterin was abruptly a good deal more sober than she had been. "Er," she said. "For, um, for the night?"

"Yes." Ivan looked away. "I was wondering . . . I'd planned to ask you tonight."

No wonder he'd been so disgruntled by their argument.

"You don't have to," he said when the silence had gone on too long.

"No," she said. "I mean, yes," she corrected herself swiftly, realizing how that sounded. "Yes."

"Oh," he said, looking so delighted that it made her feel warm all over. "I didn't . . . I thought you'd say no."

"I think saying no has become my reflex," she admitted. "But, Ivan . . ."

"What?"

"Don't . . ." She frowned. "Don't expect much." She didn't want him to be disappointed. How many beautiful and uninhibited young Vor women had he had? She didn't want to know. It had been four years for her, and that had been with Tien. She had wondered if there was something _wrong_ with her, back then. She thought she knew now that there wasn't, that it hadn't been her, it had been her and _Tien_, and she knew it would be different with Ivan.

Different _how_ was less certain.

Ekaterin glanced up and saw Ivan watching her, but in the dark couldn't read his expression. She suddenly felt very exposed, but then he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. He looked about to say something, thought better of it, and turned to redirect the driver.

*~*~*

 

The unfamiliar alarm startled Ekaterin out of a sound sleep. She sat up in a panic before she even realized where she was. Beside her, Ivan groaned, reached over, and smacked the small, obviously much abused alarm into submission. "Why did you make me set it again?" he asked, voice muffled beneath the covers.

Ekaterin had to stop and think. "Because Nikki will be back at my aunt and uncle's by noon," she finally said. "And I need to go home to shower and change. I told Admiral Quinn and Elena that I would go out with them today." She started to get out of bed.

Ivan reached out and pulled her back to him. "Cancel," he whispered into her ear.

"I can't cancel!"

"Why not? Tell them you're going to be in bed all day long."

"_Ivan_," she gasped, scandalized.

He grinned, completely unrepentant. "They'll assume you're sick."

"Somehow I think Elli Quinn is smarter than that."

He gave a mock sigh. "Probably." Then he looked at her and raised an impish eyebrow. "You look very fetching that way."

She suddenly realized that all the blankets were pooled around her waist, and that her hair was probably a complete disaster. "Ergh," she said, resisting the urge to clutch the bedclothes to her chest. It was a little late for that, and she was too tired for it anyway. It was going to be a long day.

"Come on," Ivan said. He was half-sitting up, his mouth very close to her ear. It sent shivers up and down her spine. "Just for a little while longer." His hand sneaked down under the covers.

She gave a very undignified squeak and jumped out of bed. "No, thank you, Lord Ivan." She surveyed her clothes and realized that all she had to wear home was her formal evening dress. She held it up and groaned at the wrinkles. "You are terrible, did you know that?"

"That wasn't what you said last night." He watched as she struggled into her dress, and then got up and came around to do the lacings up for her. She found herself glancing away shyly – so absurd – and at a loss for words. "You did have a good time?" he asked, charmingly uncertain.

"Yes," she said. "Of course. And – and you?"

He nodded, his eyes uncharacteristically soft and serious. "I'll see you this afternoon at the Residence?"

"Oh drat." The meeting that afternoon about the last minute touches to the Imperial Garden, which Ekaterin had redesigned for the wedding, had completely slipped her mind. Most of the principles would be there . . . including Lady Alys. _Drat, indeed_. "Yes, of course I'll be there."

"Good." He kissed her hand and then pulled on a pair of trousers to walk her to the car.

She was extremely relieved that Nikki was not home yet. Her aunt, however, was, and when Ekaterin walked in wearing last night's clothes and found her reading at the kitchen table, she couldn't control her wince.

"Have a good time last night, dear?" her aunt asked without looking up.

Ekaterin poured herself a cup of coffee and wondered if it would be too rude to simply go upstairs without answering. Probably. "Yes," she said at last, after her first sip. She finally dared to look up and saw her aunt smiling at her in, thank God, evident approval.

"Good," her aunt said, glancing back down. "I'm glad."

And that seemed to be the end of that. Ekaterin went upstairs, showered, changed, and eyed herself critically in the mirror, just as she had the night before. She didn't _think_ she looked like she'd been up all night.

A Vorkosigan groundcar arrived promptly at noon. Nikki emerged, clearly exhausted from staying up playing strategy games until all hours with Arthur and his friends. He seemed slightly shell-shocked, which puzzled Ekaterin until Elena Bothari-Jesek stuck her head out behind him and waved for her to come in. Pym held the door for her, and then slid into the front seat.

"I am at your disposal, m'ladies," he said. "Some place for lunch?"

"Please," Elli Quinn said, seated across from Ekaterin on the wide, comfortable backseat of the luxurious groundcar.

"Somewhere on the river, if you don't mind, Pym," said Elena.

"As you wish." The groundcar pulled away from the curb.

"So what did you have in mind for today?" Ekaterin asked.

"Oh, nothing much, we're both rather jump-lagged and worn out from the party last night." Quinn smiled. "You look a bit tired yourself."

"Late night," Ekaterin said, managing not to fumble.

"Yes, I can imagine." Her smile was not quite a smirk. "Anyway, I think we just wanted to get lunch and see a bit of the city. Nothing too strenuous."

"You have to be at the Residence at 1600, right?" Elena said.

"Yes," Ekaterin said, glad that _someone_ knew where she needed to be and when. She felt very off-kilter today. She thought it might be attributed to an unexpected bout of happiness. Or maybe just a large dose of endorphins.

Pym deposited them at an exclusive little eatery in the south sector. Ekaterin, who had thought she was entirely accustomed to being stared at for the company she kept, found the experience to be another sort of disconcerting entirely when every man within sight of Elli Quinn started tripping over himself and running into things.

They were seated at a table near the glass-fronted restaurant where they could see the colorful streams of men and women strolling the streets of the upper crust shopping area. Ekaterin, somewhat taken aback to find herself ravenous, ordered a generous meal. She'd had unaccustomed exercise, after all.

Conversation over lunch was strange to say the least. Aside from two X chromosomes, Ekaterin thought she had nothing in common with these women. She could watch Elli Quinn's fine hands as she wielded knife and fork, and see the soft line of Elena's mouth when she spoke of her children, and then one of them would turn to the other and remark on a shared memory, and Ekaterin would be suddenly and shockingly reminded that these were _soldiers_. She didn't often think of that; she had never known Miles in those days, and certainly not the strange chameleon creature that was this 'Admiral Naismith.' Yet she'd seen enough of his scars, caught enough oblique references, heard enough of what Ivan sometimes didn't say. He had been a man of guns and battles and blood, and these women were in a sense his people. Perhaps the most discomforting thing was how easy it was to reconcile that stranger with the kind friend he'd made himself to her.

"Is there anything in particular you'd like to see?" Ekaterin asked as they were finishing up.

"I've seen it all," said Elena, shrugging.

"I have too, come to think of it," said Quinn. "When I visited here with Miles."

"Oh," said Ekaterin, chastising herself for not having realized that. "Well, what would you like to do for the rest of the afternoon?"

"Actually," Quinn said, looking out the windows, "I still haven't found a wedding present. Would either of you mind a little shopping?"

They strolled up the avenue together, Pym trailing a polite distance behind, ready to carry any of their purchases. Quinn glanced disinterestedly into the windows of clothing stores, but ducked into the first jeweler they saw.

"You people don't do the exchanging of rings, do you?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Not usually," said Ekaterin. "Most couples exchange a token of some sort, but it's not a hard-and-fast tradition."

Quinn prowled the displays, making the proprietor visibly nervous. Ekaterin looked around herself, eye sliding appreciatively over chains and bracelets and pins. She had little jewelry of her own aside from a few items inherited from her mother, and the first time she'd seen the Countess's collection she'd been astounded.

"It's odd to see her here," said Elena at her shoulder.

"I'm sorry?" said Ekaterin.

"Elli." Elena bit her lip, staring at a display of men's lapel pins. "I didn't think she'd come, actually. Not to see him married."

"Oh," said Ekaterin. "Well, she did after all."

Elena laughed quietly behind her hand. "When I asked, she said she hadn't planned on coming, but she just couldn't resist because she knew this was going to be a grand spectacle."

"True enough," said Ekaterin wryly. "It's the single most important event in thirty years, and I don't just mean socially."

Quinn had apparently settled on a purchase. Ekaterin drifted up to see a lovely chrono, set in a band of one of the new atomically blended precious metals. "Like so," Quinn said, and measured out Miles's small wrist with a careless flicker of fingers. Ekaterin had no doubt that she was dead accurate.

She walked away again as Quinn completed her business. It was a good question; what _did_ one buy for the Emperor and his Consort? Ekaterin thought the work she'd done on the Imperial Gardens – and hadn't that been a nail-biting venture – was rather in the way of a gift, and yet . . .

Quinn was leaning across the counter, speaking, it appeared, conspiratorially to the jeweler. Who, for his part, looked entirely flustered. He gestured vaguely out the door, mouthed something alarmed sounding, and hastily pushed a flimsy receipt towards Quinn for her signature.

"Delivered within the day," he was saying as Ekaterin returned to the front of the shop.

"Excellent," said Quinn, with a smile like a shark's. "Come along, ladies, half done, and I know exactly where to go for the other half."

She struck off up the sidewalk, long-legged and determined, and Ekaterin and Elena had to trot to keep up. Quinn seemed to know where she was going, crossing the street at the next corner and then ducking down a small alley Ekaterin probably wouldn't even have seen. When the rest of them caught up she was holding open a nondescript little door and beckoning them on with a gesture that was almost gallant.

Ekaterin stepped into the shop, and took a full half-minute to realize exactly what she was looking at. Then she felt a hot rush of color from her hairline straight down beneath her blouse, and she had to resist the urge to clap a hand over her eyes and step right back out that door. There were _things_ here, racks of strangely shaped yet somehow recognizable devices, shelves stocked with bottles and jars, bins heaped with seemingly innocuous items like soft scarves and little loops of leather that were not innocuous at all.

"Elli," said Elena, eyes bright with scandalized laughter.

"What?" said Quinn. "They've been seeing each other for four years. No matter what they want this backwater planet to believe, you can't tell me they haven't been –"

Ekaterin resisted the urge to clap her hands over her ears. Really, it wasn't like she was some innocent – there was last night, for goodness sake – but this was the _Emperor_. And Miles, who was not only Miles but the Prince Consort-to-be, and one just couldn't _say_ these things.

Unless, it seemed, one were Admiral Elli Quinn.

Ekaterin moved almost despite herself to walk along one of the aisles. She'd heard of such places, of course, covert whispers from a few of her university friends. And, despite never having laid eyes on anything like it before, she found it surprisingly easy to identify each new discovery and make an accurate enough guess at its . . . purpose.

"Miles likes that stuff," Quinn said, appearing at Ekaterin's shoulder, silent as an evil spirit. Ekaterin hastily set down the bottle of oil designed to simulate the touch of many fingers to the nerves just beneath the skin.

Quinn walked away, then paused to examine an extraordinary contraption that nearly boggled the mind. It had two – _oh.Oh, my_. To Ekaterin's overwhelming relief Quinn set it down and moved on, with a half-muttered, "I wonder if they have . . ."

Ekaterin didn't want to know what the end of that sentence entailed. Elena shook her head, and surveyed the oils and creams lined up in orderly fashion. She picked up a small vial and read the label, made an uncertain noise, and put it back.

"Are you going to buy something?" Ekaterin asked, suddenly very curious. She couldn't imagine going up to the counter and making a purchase. But Elena was somehow more human than Quinn, who was a creature entirely alien to anything Ekaterin had ever encountered before. It made sense for Admiral Elli Quinn to just be able to walk up and buy anything without blinking, but Elena . . .

"Maybe," Elena said. "Baz and I are doing just fine, but something new is always fun. Don't you think?" She glanced at Ekaterin from beneath her dark lashes, and Ekaterin knew that the question hadn't been entirely innocent.

"I suppose," she said dubiously.

Elena stepped up the aisle, reached down and trailed a length of black silk through her fingers. "I'm sorry," she said abruptly. "I don't mean to make you feel uncomfortable. Neither does Elli. Well okay, maybe Elli does, a little. I'm just . . . curious."

"About?" Ekaterin asked, though she thought she knew.

"You and Ivan. Mostly you. I know Ivan, or I used to. I don't know if I know this new Ivan. He's bought a house, for heaven's sake."

Again with the house. Always with that damn house. Ekaterin almost wished she'd told Ivan not to do it.

"And all because of you," Elena continued. "So, Madame Vorsoisson, I am frankly very curious about you."

"Er," Ekaterin said. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but there's really nothing to be curious about. It had nothing to do with me. Ivan changed all on his own."

"Did he?" Elena raised an eyebrow.

"I think it was taking care of Miles," Ekaterin said, thoughtfully. "When he was sick. Ivan was up at Vorkosigan Surleau the whole time, with Miles and the Count and Countess, and when everything was over . . . he was much changed."

There was a long silence. "How sick was he?" Elena asked at last, eyes on her hands.

Ekaterin didn't know what to say – especially here. This was not a conversation to be having in public, much less in this sort of place. "How much do you know?" she finally asked.

"Just that he was injured, and that he was ill. No one has said much about it, and Miles shrugged it off when I asked. He looks well enough. But . . ."

"What?"

"Gregor doesn't. Which makes me think I'm not getting the whole story."

"You're not. You probably won't. But it was . . . it was very bad for a time. They were preparing for the worst."

"Oh," she said. It was a quiet breath, blown out through half-parted lips.

"Please don't say anything to anyone."

"Of course not."

Quinn appeared then, swinging a discreet black shopping bag jauntily from one hand. "All done," she said with almost malicious good cheer. "Want to see?"

"No," Ekaterin said firmly. "Definitely not. But thank you."

"Elena? Are you going to get something?"

Elena eyed the oils for a moment, and then plucked one off the shelf. "Why not?"

"Ekaterin?"

"Oh heavens, no," she said, before she could think better of it. "I mean," she added, when they both looked at her strangely, "I wouldn't even know where to begin to – to pick something."

"Well, you and Ivan _are_, aren't you?" Quinn asked.

To Ekaterin's horror, she couldn't manage an answer. She knew she was blushing scarlet.

"So that's a yes," Elena said, smiling.

"Mmm," Quinn hummed in agreement, eyeing Ekaterin with interest. "But only recently."

"Oh, honestly, Elli, leave her be." Elena rolled her eyes and marched up to the counter to make her purchase. To Ekaterin's relief, Quinn did as she was bid, and asked no more questions as they exited the store, handing their purchases off to a distinctly bland Pym.


	2. Chapter 2

Ekaterin arrived slightly early for her appointment at the Residence. She had her ImpSec escort show her to the gardens, though she was supposed to meet everyone in the Emperor's office before coming outside for the final walk-through. The center of the gardens was a lovely open courtyard with the Vorbarra coat of arms laid out in stone, with concentric rings spiraling outwards for the numerous guests and witnesses, until finally gravel walkways spoked out through the plants. Once free of her escort, Ekaterin hurried for the area that had given her the most trouble, where a small stream was supposed to splash peacefully down a carefully sculpted waterfall into a deep, calm pool filled with brightly-colored fish. The plants around the pool were supposed to set off the ten statues of various historical and legendary Barrayaran figures that had been specially commissioned. The entire setting had become rather complicated, and it didn't help that they always had to worry that the descendents of a Count three hundred years dead would be offended that their ancestor's face was obscured by an ill-placed rose bush.

She found, to her surprise, that the carved stone bench by the edge of the pool was occupied. "Sire," she said, stopping.

"Madame Vorsoisson," he said, looking just as startled. He checked his chrono. "Am I late?"

"No, no, I'm early. I wanted to come out here one last time. It took us so long to get it right . . ." She surveyed the area critically.

"It's my favorite place in the gardens," the Emperor said. "Which is saying something, because you really did a marvelous job."

Ekaterin felt herself flush. Putting aside the fact that he was the Emperor, there was just something about him that made you want his quiet approval. "Thank you," she said. "It was an honor." She knelt down and hid her face by poking at the dirt, testing soil consistency.

"Miles tells me you went out with Admiral Quinn and Madame Bothari-Jesek today," the Emperor said after a moment.

"Yes, Sire, I did."

"Did you have a good time?"

Ekaterin didn't answer for a moment. She stood up, brushed the dirt off her hands, closely studying the grit beneath her nails. "Yes," she finally said. "But, Sire . . ."

"Yes?"

"When you receive your wedding gift from Elli Quinn, perhaps it would be best if you, er, didn't open it in public."

He raised his eyebrows. "My ImpSec agents will see it, of course."

"I – of course, yes. But don't open it in front of the Count and Countess or – or Lady Alys, or – anyone except Miles. Really, don't."

One corner of his mouth quirked up. "I take it you had an interesting afternoon."

"Very interesting, Sire."

He cocked his head to one side, and Ekaterin was momentarily terrified he would ask her to elaborate. But then he simply rose, smiled, and offered his arm. He seemed unperturbed by the traces of soil constantly dusting her hands these days, no matter how much she scrubbed. "Miles is upstairs," he said, "and unlikely to appear unless fetched. Shall we?" Ekaterin nodded mutely, suddenly conscious that he was in fact a diplomat of truly galactic caliber.

It became shortly apparent, as he guided her up to the third floor, that by 'upstairs' he meant his personal quarters. Ekaterin was caught between the overpowering urge to beg off and flee back down to the more familiar intimidations of his office, and a whisper of intense curiosity.

A uniformed guard stood in the hall, and he saluted smartly as he opened the door for them. The Emperor guided her into a surprisingly small entryway. Miles's voice drifted out to them from the lit doorway ahead.

It was a sitting room, Ekaterin realized as they paused in the doorway. Miles was stretched out on the sofa, staring eye-to-eye with Negri, who was perched on a cushion.

"There's a day of reckoning coming, you know," Miles was saying conversationally to the cat. "In less than a week I'm going to be living here permanently. It's not going to be pretty, and one of us is going to end up with his back up against the wall. And I'm here to tell you right now, it's not going to be me."

Beside her, the Emperor quivered – with suppressed laughter, Ekaterin realized after a moment. "Are you terrorizing my cat?" he asked.

Miles's head jerked up. "Terrorizing him? _Me_? He's the one –" He broke off as Negri stood up, stretched, and leapt lightly down off the sofa to arch up against Ekaterin's shins.

Ekaterin reached down and petted him once from the top of his head to the tip of his tail. She liked the Emperor's cat. He would leap into her lap whenever she sat down anywhere in the Residence and shed black hairs all over her skirts and bat imperiously at her if she stopped petting him. Ekaterin rather thought that the "problems" he and Miles seemed to have were because they were awfully alike – charming, arrogant, able to make the Emperor do just about anything with a single look, and more than a little possessive about it.

"Hmph," Miles sniffed.

"We have an appointment," the Emperor said, and abandoned Ekaterin to offer Miles a hand up.

Miles sighed, heaving himself to his feet. "Should have eloped," he muttered. Ekaterin had the impression it was a familiar refrain.

They found several people waiting for them in the Emperor's office – the Count and Countess, General Allegre and the Emperor's public affairs man, Sitzen, and, of course, Ivan and Lady Alys. Ivan claimed Ekaterin's hand for his arm immediately, smiling at her with something close to giddiness. She glanced around, hoping no one had noticed Ivan's sudden change in mood for the better. It appeared that no one was paying any attention to them – except for Lady Alys. She was eyeing them in a way that made Ekaterin squirm.

"Did you talk to her?" Ekaterin muttered to Ivan as they followed everyone else out to the garden.

Ivan sighed. "I tried," he said. "Really, I did. The Countess was there too, and she kept agreeing with me and telling my mother that she couldn't just make you into what she wanted you to be, but I'm not sure we quite got through."

"Well, what did she say?"

"She said . . ." Ivan shrugged. "She said that it was for your own good, that you're going to have to learn how to manage the whole high Vor" – Ivan gestured expansively – "thing, and she pointed out that she'd done the same thing for Aunt Cordelia when she first immigrated."

"But the Countess was already married, wasn't she? Did you point out that we are not even betrothed?" Drat, that panicky note was back.

"I did, I did," Ivan said quickly. "She . . . well, she implied that was something that should be remedied. Soon."

"Madame Vorsoisson!" Lady Alys's voice had a hint of impatience in it. Looking up, Ekaterin realized that she and Ivan had fallen quite behind.

"Is she angry with me now?" she hissed to Ivan as they hurried to catch up.

"Um."

"Oh, wonderful."

"Not really _angry_," Ivan said, in a way that was completely _not_ reassuring.

The walk through the gardens went well enough. Everyone seemed very impressed with her work, and the waterfall area in particular went over well, which was a relief, because after all that work Ekaterin thought she might have cried if she'd had to change much of anything. There were one or two small things that needed to be altered, but nothing the Imperial groundskeepers couldn't do themselves.

"Wonderfully done, Ekaterin," the Countess said, as they walked back to the Residence. "I imagine you'll be much in demand after this."

"Thank you, Countess." Ekaterin didn't add that she had already received several offers from counts and countesses who had somehow caught a glimpse of the gardens and wanted to be first in line.

"I imagine we'll see a trend in garden weddings after this," Lady Alys said.

"Very likely," Sitzen agreed. "For the next two or three years, at least."

"There are some lovely locales in Vorbarr Sultana, don't you think, Madame Vorsoisson?" Lady Alys glanced sideways at her.

"Um, well, yes, I suppose. The Municipal Gardens are quite nice."

"They're lovely in the fall, too, aren't they?"

"Yes," Ekaterin said, a bit warily. "Many Barrayaran plants flower in the fall." She looked helplessly to Ivan and saw that he was giving his mother a sharp look, which Lady Alys was returning.

But she seemed to take the hint all the same, saying only, "I need to see you about your dress before you leave, Madame Vorsoisson."

"My dress?" Ekaterin asked, raising her eyebrows. She had planned to wear the dress Alys had given her only last week to the wedding. It was deep purple edged with black, very formal and fashionable. She glanced quickly to Ivan, who shook his head to indicate that he didn't know.

Back in the Emperor's office, Lady Alys handed out assignments for the last few days before the wedding. Ivan had all of his meals taken up, as the Emperor and Miles had for a week now, including a ball at the Residence in two days time. The night before the wedding was free, she was glad to see, except for a formal dinner.

"Goodness," she said, gazing down at the list.

"Hey, you got off lightly," Ivan told her. "I had lunch today with the University Faculty Club. It was frightening. Yesterday it was the Baker's Union. Tonight I have . . ." He consulted his list. "The Vorbarr Sultana Safety Commission. What fun that shall be."

"It seems we both have that," she said.

"Ah." He looked considerably cheered. Ekaterin fought the urge to smile very foolishly at him.

The Emperor dismissed everyone except Lady Alys then, and Ekaterin obediently waited outside for them to finish speaking. Miles bore Ivan off with an apologetic look, and Ekaterin tried not to appear as bereft as she felt.

"Ah, good, Madame Vorsoisson," Lady Alys said when she appeared. She swept past, forcing Ekaterin to follow. "Your dress is nearly finished."

"My dress? But I was going to wear the purple one –"

"Nonsense. For something like this, a proper Vor lady always has her dress made. Madame Latille just wanted to check the fit of the bodice and the length of the arms."

"Madame Latille? Your – your seamstress?"

"Of course." She led the way into her office without looking back to see if Ekaterin were following. Inside they found Madame Latille, whom Ekaterin had met once or twice before, waiting with something swathed in plastic draped over her arm.

"Good afternoon, Lady Alys, Madame Vorsoisson." She inclined her head formally.

"Madame Latille," Lady Alys said. "I'm sorry for the rush, but we're both on a schedule. Let's see it, please."

Ekaterin had to admit that the dress was stunning. It was dark green, the color of rose leaves with a similar luster, and made appropriate for Midsummer by the tiny, delicately embroidered rose buds that edged the bodice and skirt. It certainly looked as though it had been designed and made just for her, unlike the other dresses she had at home. She said nothing as she tried it on and stood patiently while Madame Latille made her adjustments.

"Pearls, I think," Lady Alys said, watching her in the mirror. "Yes, pearls. A necklace, not a brooch."

"Lady Alys," Ekaterin said, finally finding her voice. "I – I can't accept this."

"Nonsense. Of course you can."

"No, I can't." Ekaterin frowned.

"Is Madame not satisfied?" the seamstress asked anxiously.

"No, no! It's beautiful, but it's too much. You've done too much for me already, Lady Alys. It's not . . ." She nearly said _proper_ and then realized how ridiculous it would be to lecture Lady Alys Vorpatril on etiquette. "I'm just not comfortable accepting something so . . . substantial," she finished lamely.

Lady Alys did not reply for a moment. "Well, the dress is made," she said at last. "And it was made for you. Do you truly wish to refuse it?" She looked into the mirror, and Ekaterin followed her gaze. It was an obvious, if mute, appeal to Ekaterin's vanity, and Ekaterin wanted very badly for it not to work.

But it was a beautiful dress. And it was _her_ beautiful dress. Wearing it, Ekaterin almost didn't feel like she was a little girl dressing up in her mother's clothes. Their eyes met in the mirror, and Ekaterin winced internally at the trace of hurt Alys did not conceal. It was a beautiful gift.

"No," she said at last. "I don't wish to refuse it. I just –"

"Well, then," Lady Alys said, before Ekaterin could manage to finish her sentence. She had been about to say, _I just wish you had asked me_. Or perhaps, _You, of all people, should understand pride_. "That's that. Thank you, Madame Latille." Lady Alys glanced at her chrono. "I must go. Have the dress delivered to Madame Vorsoisson's residence by the night before the wedding, please."

"Of course, m'lady."

The seamstress helped her out of it, her hands quick and practiced on the lacings, and Ekaterin dressed again, winding her hair up on top of her head to pin with a stylus. She was trying to gather her courage to say what she wanted to. But Lady Alys was obviously in a hurry, and suddenly they were standing in the hallway outside her office, about to part.

"Lady Alys?" Ekaterin said, trying to make her voice firm.

Lady Alys paused, looked back, and raised an eyebrow. "Yes?"

". . . Thank you," Ekaterin finally said, and was immediately furious with herself.

Lady Alys smiled. "My pleasure, dear." And then, in a waft of expensive perfume, she was gone.

*~*~*

 

Ekaterin found over the next two days that she had neither the time nor the energy to spare to be angry with herself or anybody else. What energy she did have left at the end of a long day of formal meals and politicking, Ivan put to good use. _He_ was certainly in a good mood. She laughed at him about it once or twice in private, but never for long. He had very effective ways of making her forget what she was saying.

She ended up wearing the purple dress she had intended for the wedding to the ball two nights before. Ivan told her she looked stunning when he picked her up, and then made an extremely naughty suggestion about what they could do to pass the time on their way to the Residence.

"Keep your hands to yourself, m'lord," she admonished him. "It took me forever to get myself into this dress. I am certainly not going to let you get me out of it in the first five minutes."

"You wouldn't have to get all the _way_ out of it," he protested.

"Lord Ivan!"

"All right," he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "It was worth a try."

The Imperial Residence was resplendent in all its Midsummer glory and then some that evening. Ekaterin had still not quite gotten over her wonder of the place, with its layers of history and beauty and tragedy, though she had spent a great deal of time there over the last few months and even more with people who seemed to think nothing of it. She suspected that she would never get used to it, that she would never sit down to dinner with the Emperor and counts and countesses and their heirs without a twinge of anxiety. They were her friends now, and wonderful friends they were, but she would never feel like she was one of them.

Which was perhaps, she thought, part of the problem. Or maybe most of it. She took a bite of the perfectly prepared vat steak, let it practically melt in her mouth, and thought that what Lady Alys wanted of her was something she would never be able to be – high Vor born and bred, with the pretty manners and motions and words all there, right at her fingertips. And, Ekaterin realized, it wasn't an entirely selfish desire, because this was Ivan's world, and Lady Alys wanted whomever he married to feel comfortable there. Barring that, she needed to be able to fake it very well – or, like the Countess, make it seem like it didn't matter. But there was no being like the Countess, that was even more impossible.

_So what do I do? How do you look like something you're not and not lose what you actually are_?

The night was half over before Ekaterin came within ten feet of Miles. At last he ruthlessly cut in on Ivan, who protested until Miles pointed out that he hadn't seen Ekaterin dance with anyone else the entire evening, and Ivan could just go get himself a glass of wine and be patient.

"It's too loud in here," Miles said in the short break after the dance had ended. "Come on." She followed him out onto the terrace, where he ousted a necking couple in about two seconds flat, and then settled himself on the stone bench.

Ekaterin sat beside him and resisted the urge to kick off her shoes. "I feel like I see you every day but haven't really talked to you in weeks," she remarked.

"I feel like I haven't really talked to me in weeks either." Miles shook his head. "What a circus."

"Are all the preparations going well?"

He snorted inelegantly. "I was trained to settle border wars, and I spent my morning playing peacemaker to Ma Kosti and Gregor's personal chef." He shook his head at her look. "You really don't want to know, I promise."

"Is there anything I can do to help?" Ekaterin asked, wondering a little helplessly where she would find the time, but determined that she should.

"Oh, don't listen to me, really. Everything is fine according to Lady Alys, and believe you me we'd hear if it weren't." He slid a sideways glance at her. "But _you_ seem to be very well these days."

"Yes, thank you."

"And Ivan seems . . . extremely happy. Happier than he's been in some time. These last couple of days, one might almost describe him as . . . giddy."

"Did he _tell_ you?" she squeaked indignantly. _Men_!

"Tell me?" Miles returned innocently. "No, he didn't tell me anything. You, however, my dear, just did." She glared. "I'm sorry. I had guessed. But no, he really didn't say anything. Unusual, for our Ivan."

"Hmm," she said, and then smiled despite herself. She could see Ivan through the glass doors, dancing a mirror dance with Olivia Vorrutyer.

When she looked back, Miles's smile had vanished. Ekaterin followed his gaze to   
the Emperor. He wasn't dancing, though he was standing with people – Lord Mark, Kareen Koudelka, and the Countess. She supposed he could hardly escape into a library tonight. When Ekaterin glanced back, the fretful strain she saw settling across Miles's face was not entirely a surprise.

He took a slow breath beside her. "I've had a number of people remark to me recently on how ill he looks. My mother, Simon, Kareen, Elena . . . and a few people with decidedly less altruistic intentions."

"He's not sick, is he?"

"I don't think so – God, what a thought. No, I think it's just . . . I don't know what it is, and he's not talking to me about it. He just says he's tired. Damn." Miles shook his head, and then looked up at her. "I was wondering if he might have said something to you, the other night."

"To me?" Ekaterin asked, startled.

"Yes," he said, and didn't elaborate on why he thought it possible. Ekaterin dearly wanted to know.

"Not . . . not really," she said. "He said he was tired. I think he's badly in need of a break."

"So am I, truth be told," Miles said with another sigh. "And we're not really going to get one. We leave three days after the wedding on that tour of the Empire – why did we ever agree to that? We should have told them all to shove it and rented a place on the coast where we could have done what people are supposed to do on a honeymoon."

Ekaterin hid a smile. "Well, it's a long way to Komarr."

"True," Miles said, brightening. "Five days. Elli and the others will be with us, but at least there'll be a lock on our door. And I can make it clear that he is not to be bothered with business unless there is an actual state of emergency." He paused for a moment, seeming to contemplate this. "Did you have a good time the other day, when you went out with Elli and Elena?" he asked at last.

"Yes," she said carefully. "It was . . . eye-opening."

"Ha," Miles said with a lop-sided smile. "Quinn is that." He glanced inside again. "I think Gregor is uncomfortable around her." He frowned. "I don't understand why. He can't possibly think –"

"I don't think that's it," Ekaterin said quickly. "I think . . . Admiral Quinn is a very intimidating woman."

"Ah," Miles said. And then, sounding enlightened, "Ah." He looked at Ekaterin. "Thank you. You've been very helpful."

She didn't feel as though she had been. "You're welcome." She hesitated. "Miles . . ."

"Yes?" he said. He had been about to rise, but he sank back and gave her his full attention, the abstracted look gone from his eyes.

She bit her lip, and then shook her head. "I'm sorry, I don't know how to say what I'm thinking."

He followed her gaze inside to where the dancers were swirling and laughing in a jumble of bright colors and lights. He looked back at her, and Ekaterin was startled by how well he knew her when he quietly said, "It's all a construction, you know."

"What?"

He gestured to the dancers. "Sometimes it helps to remember that. My mother used to call it a mass delusion, but I think she realizes now that it's real – but only because we make it real."

"I'm not sure it's a construction I can learn how to – to be a part of."

Miles shrugged. "My mother never did. Though that was by choice, not because she couldn't."

"I'm not your mother."

"No," he agreed. He cocked his head to one side and studied her. "You live in it and believe in it already. But if you're going to be with Ivan, you have to live in it differently."

"Right," she said with a sigh.

"It's not easy," he said after a moment. "But you have what it takes, I think. You know what it means to be Vor – you just need a bit of practice, that's all."

"But I like who I am," she said. "For the first time in my life, I like who I am. I don't want to change that."

Miles nodded. "I understand. And I don't think you need to – or could, even. I tried to take the Vor out of me when I played Admiral Naismith. It worked for a time, and then it didn't anymore. You have to make your peace with it, though. Everyone does, at some point, if being Vor means anything more to them than privilege." He raised an eyebrow at her. "And I think you would find your life a lot easier if you made your peace with Lady Alys too."

"She had a dress made for me for the wedding."

"I know. I've seen it. It's beautiful."

She sighed. "I know. It's all so beautiful."

Miles shrugged. "Ugly constructions rarely last long." He stood, and Ekaterin couldn't help but catch a small, delighted breath at the energy in his restless feet, the light of vitality in every line of his face. She re-entered the ballroom on his arm, and they were but three steps into the room before people began zeroing in. The Emperor was approaching from the right, probably to beg another dance from Miles, and from the left came Elli Quinn, parting the crowd like the bow of a ship and looking . . . very, very angry.

"Uh oh," Miles muttered, pausing. Ekaterin could see him calculating relative speeds and angles of intercept with a tactician's eye. Quinn would get there first, there was no doubt of that.

"Miles," Quinn said, arriving before them and not seeming to even see Ekaterin. "A word, if you don't mind." She took him by the elbow before he could respond, and turned away. Ekaterin released him at once, not wanting to play human tug-of-war, and watched Quinn nearly drag him away. Miles said something to her after only a few steps, the line of his profile tense and irritated, and she released him, straightening up and looping her arm casually through his.

"Well," said the Emperor, arriving at Ekaterin's side at last. "That was . . . interesting." He watched them until they disappeared out one of the side exits, his mouth a flat, unrevealing line. Then he turned to Ekaterin, a polite smile forming. "Ivan's gone upstairs with the rest of Miles's guests and the wedding party. Shall we?"

"Of course." She'd had no idea, she reflected as he escorted her through the crowd, that inside the most exclusive Vor gatherings there were even higher levels of the innermost Imperial acquaintance. Ekaterin had only been to one or two of these most private of parties in the salons upstairs, assemblages of a dozen or so people whose names would be in the history books someday, if they weren't already. She looked around herself at the dancing, laughing guests, and thought that most of them had no idea, either.

He guided her up the corridor from the ballroom, the noise falling away behind them, and into a lift cleverly tucked away behind an antique wooden door. He was silent as they wafted up, hands clasped neatly before him, but Ekaterin was oddly comfortable in his still presence.

They stepped out onto the third floor together, and paused at the same moment to exchange a startled look. Two voices, not quite shouts but clearly elevated in anger, drifted around the corner. The Emperor listened to the indistinguishable noise for a moment, head cocked, then took off up the corridor faster than Ekaterin had ever seen him move. She scrambled to keep up, hitching at her skirts in a most undignified manner.

Miles and Elli Quinn were facing off in a small, open sitting room, the length of an area rug between them.

"Not even a goddamn message," Quinn was saying, her hands balled at her sides. "After everything, and you can't even be bothered to _tell_ me."

"I'm sorry," snapped Miles, in a tone Ekaterin had never heard from him before. "But I was rather inconvenienced by dying at the time."

Quinn's face twisted up, in pain or rage or both, it was impossible to tell. "Right," she said, hurling her words like a weapon. "And it's just too bad for those of us who wake up sometimes wondering if this is the day you're going to end up with your entrails splattered in a ten foot radius. Again."

"Oh good," said Miles scathingly. "Now you can go off on a rant about Mark and we can throw a few things at each other. It'll be just like old times."

Quinn snarled a few words that Ekaterin had never heard another woman speak in her life. "I thought you left m – us because you were done with that life," she said, her voice a little high and uneven. "Because I've got to tell you, Miles, the way I see it, getting married is supposed to make you less likely to end up in a body bag, not _more_."

Ekaterin had thought they were unaware of their audience, but Miles's eyes landed suddenly on them now – on the Emperor, anyway. The Emperor, who stood statue still at attention, face a mask of absolute neutrality. Ekaterin could read nothing in his eyes, but apparently Miles could, and whatever it was it lit his rage like a Winterfair bonfire. Ekaterin made a tiny sound at the back of her throat as she literally saw the moment he let go, temper like a bird let free from its jesses. It was a moment of uncontrolled fury as he stepped towards Elli, and apparently Quinn could read his face too, because she took a sudden, hasty step back. Miles was holding a wineglass, and in that moment Ekaterin was certain he would throw it at her.

"Miles," said the Emperor quietly. And it was gone in a blink, Miles's face smoothing itself into lines of chill stillness as he looked away from Quinn. All Ekaterin could think was that Aral Vorkosigan had nothing on his son.

"I wouldn't even have known," Elli said, her voice very controlled but shaky now. "You could have died and I wouldn't even have known, Miles."

Miles said nothing and did not look at her.

"You would have," the Emperor said, suddenly, softly. "I would have made sure someone took a message out to the fleet."

""Happy Winterfair, Admiral Quinn, Miles is dead'?" Quinn snapped. "Thanks for being so fucking thoughtful."

Miles's face darkened and he shifted, putting himself squarely between them. "You will not speak to Gregor that way. Ever."

Quinn snarled something incomprehensible in reply, turned suddenly, and slammed past them, shoving through the door with all her considerable strength. Ekaterin hesitated for a second, but saw the Emperor step toward Miles and knew she couldn't stay.

Quinn hadn't gone far. She was standing in front of a huge bay window, staring out at the illuminated rose garden. Ekaterin cleared her throat politely. The look she received in return was positively poisonous. "What do you want?"

Ekaterin took an involuntary step back, but then felt a sudden flood of irritation. "I don't want anything. I wondered if there was anything I could do for you." Quinn snorted derisively, and Ekaterin felt herself flush. "Fine then," she snapped, turned on her heel, and marched away. Someone else could deal with her.

She found Elena Bothari-Jesek in one of the salons, talking to the Countess. "Ekaterin," Miles's mother said by way of greeting, glancing up. Then, taking in Ekaterin's face, she frowned. "Is everything all right?"

Ekaterin bent over to speak discreetly. "Miles and Admiral Quinn just had an . . . argument. I think the Emperor is with him now, but I got snarled at for my trouble when I tried to talk to her."

Elena sighed. "Lovely. And I thought we were done with Miles and Elli's famous fights." She stood up. "I'll see what I can do." She left, stopping briefly to say something to her husband on her way out.

Ekaterin spent the next hour milling about with the other guests, chatting about inconsequential matters and letting Ivan ply her with wine. By the time Miles appeared with the Emperor, who waved rather wearily for everyone to keep their seats, she was feeling mellow enough to sit on one of the sofas, fingers intertwined with Ivan's, completely ignoring the indulgent glances they were receiving.

Miles made his way over, grabbed a chair and spun it around backward to sit facing them.

"Hi," he said, a bit weakly. "I, um, should probably apologize for you having to see that."

"It was quite a show," Ekaterin said.

"Yeah," he said, looking rather ashamed. "I'm sorry. I hope it didn't – I mean, I hope you weren't – I hope it didn't upset you too much."

Ekaterin blinked, and then realized he feared he had offered an unwelcome reminder of more unpleasant times. "Oh," she said quietly, unsettled. "No."

"Okay," he said, obviously relieved.

"Elena went to talk to Admiral Quinn," Ekaterin said after a moment.

Miles nodded, a bit grimly. "I know. I think the two of them left."

"Oh." That didn't sound good at all.

Miles drifted off after a few minutes, back to the Emperor's side, where he stayed for the rest of the evening. He was noticeably subdued, Ekaterin observed, and after an hour or so, when she and Ivan decided it was time to leave, they found him and the Emperor sitting off to the side, as far from the center of attention as they ever could be. They didn't seem to be speaking, but just sitting quietly, fingers twined together. Miles's gray eyes, when they met Ekaterin's were . . . sad. Or maybe just tired, it was hard to say.

"I'll see you tomorrow night," Miles said, and he did indeed sound very tired.

She nodded and squeezed his hand. Ivan took her arm as they left, and she leaned on him a little. "Would you like to come back to the house with me?" he asked.

Ekaterin checked her chrono – a delicate silver one, a gift from the Countess for her birthday. It was only just past midnight, she realized, and her schedule was slightly lighter tomorrow – only lunch with the . . . whatever guild it was, and then the reception for the off-planet diplomatic guests. "Yes," she said. "But I need to go home afterward."

Ivan nodded, and held the door of the groundcar open for her with a smile.


	3. Chapter 3

For all the experience with high Vor society that Ekaterin had gained in the last few months, galactic culture still overwhelmed her. She had to force herself not to stop short at the sheer range of people and clothing and cultures represented as she and Ivan entered the Residence the next night. Betans, wearing garments that were conservative for them and borderline scandalous for Barrayar; the flowing, comfortable, brightly colored clothing of the Escobaran delegates; dozens of other guests whose planetary origins she couldn't even guess at; and – yes, goodness, that was a painted Cetagandan ghem officer talking to Miles.

"Are you hungry?" Ivan asked solicitously, with a gesture toward the appetizers.

"No," she said. "I've eaten more this week than I usually do in two. Everyone seems to want to honor the Emperor and Lord Vorkosigan by stuffing us senseless."

"Hmm," said Ivan in agreement. "Wine then?"

"Yes, please."

He fetched a glass of her favorite red, and then scanned the room. "Is that . . . yes, it is. Huh."

"What?" she said, following his gaze to the ghem officer and Miles, who looked up at that moment and gestured them over.

"General Benin, you remember my cousin, Captain Ivan Vorpatril," Miles said.

"Of course," the ghem general said, smiling genially.

"And this is Madame Ekaterin Vorsoisson," Miles continued.

"A pleasure to meet you," Benin said, smiling. With his face paint he looked . . . intimidating. Which she supposed was the point.

"General Benin and I were just discussing . . . old times." There was a slightly manic gleam in Miles's eye.

Ivan looked like he could have happily hopped the next ship bound for anywhere but here. Ekaterin suspected she really didn't want to know; she was certain she wouldn't be told, in any case. "This isn't your usual post, is it, General? Diplomacy, I mean," Ivan said.

"No," Benin said. "But the opportunity was so unique, I couldn't pass it up."

"How was the news of the engagement received on Cetaganda?" Ekaterin asked with interest.

"Hmm," Benin said. "I'm not sure the general populace took much notice. The reaction of the Celestial Garden was . . ." He paused. "Bemusement. Some personages were especially surprised."

Miles's lips quirked. "My goal in life, keeping the Cetagandan Empire on its toes."

"There was some speculation, of course," the ghem-General added. "About the, ah, felicitous timing."

"Ah," Miles said. "Androgenesis," he explained to Ekaterin. "The engagement was recent," he told Benin blandly.

"I see," Benin said, in an odd tone. Ekaterin had the distinct impression that there was a great deal of conversation going on that she was missing. Benin and Miles were exchanging an inscrutable look, and Ivan looked rather . . . stuffed. She bit her lip and took a sip of wine. There were some things she just didn't need to know.

The state dinner was a somewhat different experience than the more social events she usually attended at the Residence. For one thing, there was no dancing afterward, since Lady Alys wanted everyone fresh for tomorrow. This intention was rather defeated, however, by the plans she had heard Miles discussing with Ivan to go take over a bar with his guests and get traditionally and Vorishly drunk.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay with me tonight?" Ivan asked as they went to leave, much earlier than normal. "We could go over to the Residence together in the morning."

"No, you have fun with Miles and his friends. I'm just going to go home and go to sleep." She glanced over and saw Elena and Admiral Quinn chatting with Miles's mother. "Have Miles and Admiral Quinn made up then?"

"I don't think so," Ivan said, following her gaze. "More like a cease fire."

His groundcar dropped her at her aunt and uncle's house, and she waved good-bye before going inside. She undressed and pulled on an old pair of her uncle's shipknits, before dropping down in front of her comconsole. She wanted to check the weather for tomorrow. It was supposed to be beautiful, but if it was going to be especially warm she needed to make sure that someone watered the garden early in the morning –

_The gardens. Drat_.

Ekaterin stared blankly at her comconsole screen. She had meant to take one last tour through them this afternoon, but with everything else, it just hadn't happened. And then she had thought to do it either before or after dinner and had completely forgotten.

She should go to bed, she thought. And then a second later she knew she would just spend hours lying there, staring at the ceiling and wondering if this and that last minute touch had been botched somehow. Frustrated, she ran a hand through her hair. She looked at her chrono, sighed heavily, and got up to change back into her clothes. If she went over there now, she could be back in an hour and catch enough sleep not to be bleary eyed in the morning.

"Ekaterin?" her aunt said from where she sat reading in a pool of yellow lamplight in the living room.

"I'm just going back over to check the gardens, Aunt Helen," Ekaterin said.

"Dear, I'm sure they're fine."

"I won't be able to sleep if I don't. I should be back soon, but don't wait up."

"But, Ekaterin . . ."

Ekaterin let herself out and found the autocab she'd called waiting for her. It was probably obsessive, and it wasn't like the Imperial groundskeepers weren't the most competent people in their profession, but all the same . . .

The Imperial Residence was quiet and dark after the bustle of the state dinner. Apparently the galactic guests had been packed off to wherever they were staying in the interim. The Emperor was probably out with Miles and his friends. She bet they had commandeered a bar by now and were drinking themselves silly – though she hoped that Miles and the Emperor were sensible enough not to give themselves hangovers on their wedding day.

The agents stiffened as she approached, but her ID checked out and her name was on the "all clear" list, so they let her through with an escort, who deposited her in the gardens with a courtly bow. She set out along one of the softly illuminated paths, checking plants and soil consistency as she went, pulling the occasional errant weed. Without quite realizing it, she found herself standing in front of the waterfall and pool area again, and, once more, the bench was occupied.

"Sire?" Ekaterin said, coming up short.

"Madame Vorsoisson," he said, slurring her last name slightly. "What are you doing here?" He was slumped over, the wine glass in his hand dangling precariously from his fingers. Ekaterin eyed the empty bottle and the unhappy slouch of his shoulders and thought, _Why me? Why do I always get stuck with him when he's drunk and miserable? Where are his ImpSec agents? Where are his Armsmen? Where is_ Miles?

Miles was unreachable. So was Ivan. Ekaterin could probably call the Countess, but she winced at the thought of waking her after midnight, and she didn't want to leave the Emperor out here alone like this anyway.

"I came to check the garden," she said, answering his question only a few seconds late. "What are _you_ doing here?"

He blinked and looked around, as though surprised to find himself outside by the pond. "I don't know," he said, with surprising clarity. He squinted at her. "The gardens are fine. Very pretty. Oh, my apologies. Wine?" He held his glass out to her. She accepted it, because he clearly didn't need to drink anymore of the dark red. She took an experimental sip and was not surprised to find that it was excellent. She doubted there was a bottle of bad wine anywhere within a mile of here.

"If you wanted to get drunk, you should have gone with Miles and Ivan," she said as he moved over to make room for her on the bench.

He shook his head. "Too many people," he said, looking so miserable that instinct made her reach out and take his hand. He looked surprised for a moment, and then his fingers closed over hers. "And Admiral Quinn," he added, voice laden with some indefinable emotion.

"Ah," she said. "I thought she and Miles weren't speaking."

The Emperor shrugged. "Don't know. I don't like the way she looks at me – the way she looked at me," he corrected. "Last night."

Ekaterin frowned. "I don't remember her looking at you at all."

"Yes, she did. It was . . ." He didn't finish, frowning deeply. "May I have my glass, please?"

She handed it over and he swallowed the rest. Then he held up the bottle. There was about an inch of dark liquid left in the bottom, and he poured it carefully.

"She was upset," Ekaterin said after a moment.

"Yes. She was right, too." The Emperor sighed. "I hate all this sometimes," he muttered. "But it's the only thing I can do. The only thing I'm qualified for. Strange, isn't it?"

Ekaterin had certainly never thought of it that way. "Hmm," was all she said.

There was a long silence. "I tried to run away once," the Emperor said at last. "I jumped off a balcony. And then Miles found me and brought me back, and I fell in love with him. I was twenty-five." He stared into his glass. "Probably I shouldn't have told you that. But it's how it seems like it's always been with Miles. I jump off a balcony and he brings me back, and risks his life doing it. He doesn't care about his life, but I care about it. And I might be the death of him. Almost was once already, and we're not even married yet." There was a long, fraught silence, while Ekaterin tried to think of something to say, before he added, softly, "Quinn put him in a cryochamber once, with her own hands. I couldn't . . ." He trailed off and, once more, didn't finish his sentence.

"I think," Ekaterin said at last, "that we should go inside."

The Emperor nodded. "Kitchen," he said.

"Er," Ekaterin said. "What?"

"The kitchen." He stood up and swayed. Ekaterin grabbed him and he said, "Thank you."

They made their uneven way along the garden paths, Ekaterin supporting the Emperor and trying to keep him in as straight a line as possible. _Miles, you owe me for this_, she thought glumly.

Once they were inside the Residence, the Emperor did indeed start leading her in the direction of the kitchen. "Sire," Ekaterin said a bit desperately.

"Gregor," the Emperor said.

"What?"

"Not 'Sire,' Gregor. Please."

"Um."

"I'm drunk off my Imperial Ass," he said succinctly. "I'm nobody's 'Sire' right now."

"Okay," Ekaterin said. She swallowed and said, "Gregor – shouldn't you be going to bed? You're getting married tomorrow."

"No, I need to think. And I'm hungry. Kitchen." He turned abruptly and pushed through a swinging door. Ekaterin sighed and followed him through, and found herself in a sea of stainless steel, chrome, and state of the art kitchen implements of all kinds. She blinked, staring down at the long row of tables and sinks and everything that the most discerning chef could possibly want at his or her disposal – several times over – and felt slightly overwhelmed.

The Emperor was rummaging through one of the pantries. "Ah," he said, coming up with a brand of snack foods that Nikki loved and Ekaterin only let him have once a week at most. "Would you like some?"

"No, thank you, Sire – Gregor."

He hitched himself up onto one of the clear counters. Many of them were taken up by neatly stacked refrigeration trays, for tomorrow, Ekaterin realized. He hadn't turned on any overhead lights, but by the greenish illuminations from all the oven displays she could see a row of metal doors along one wall, probably leading to walk-in refrigerators and freezers. How much food, she wondered a little dizzily, did it take to feed over two thousand guests?

"By some people's reckoning," said the Emperor, "we got engaged here."

Ekaterin blinked. "That's not the story I've heard."

He waved a dismissive hand. "Public relations claptrap. By all rights, we've been engaged for over four years. Conservatives would like that."

"I . . . wouldn't tell them," she said cautiously. She approached him, leaned uncertainly on the edge of the counter. "Gregor. Do you think perhaps you should have a few glasses of water and possibly a sleep timer? I know Miles would be none too pleased if you showed up tomorrow all bloodshot."

"Tomorrow," he said, almost in a whisper, and once again Ekaterin had no idea what he was thinking. If she hadn't known better, she'd have said that he was frightened.

"Aren't you looking forward to it?" she asked, and almost bit her tongue. Of course he was; he was the most eagerly attentive groom she'd ever seen. It was completely unthinkable that he might be having cold feet.

"It's just a ceremony," he said. "It . . . I am already his, in every way that matters."

"Oh," said Ekaterin. Then, greatly daring, "And is he already yours?"

"Sometimes," he breathed. "Sometimes I feel as though I have all of him, more than I can fathom, but it's all mine. And sometimes . . . he is very far away from me, and I remember that he could leave me, yet."

"He wouldn't," said Ekaterin, astonished at the very idea.

He smiled, a bleak little thing that tugged on her heart. "I didn't say he would do it willingly."

She touched his hand again; his fingers were cold. "He's fine," she said. "He gets better every day. You've seen how he's been the past few weeks, how happy he is. It's like he's on fast-forward." She'd coaxed a smile out of him, she saw with unreasoning triumph. "There may still be bad days. There may always be bad days. But would you trade all of that for having him here with you, for the life you're going to have?" She certainly couldn't, she knew. She had him as a friend only, and at that he had become essential with frightening rapidity. What it must be to have him as a lover was something she thought about with far less frequency these days. What it was to lose him she did not want to think about at all. She suspected Elli Quinn could tell her a great deal about that.

"No," said the Emperor. "Not a single second of it. But I don't think I'm –"

"Nonsense," said Ekaterin firmly. It occurred to her only afterward that she had just interrupted him. She plowed right on through the momentary mortification. "Enough. You're getting married tomorrow. And if I had just met you tonight for the first time and knew nothing about you, I would still welcome you like my own brother. Because he's chosen to have you, and I think he's a man of extraordinary wisdom. So you must be extraordinary too. And I really don't think extraordinary people need to be sitting and drinking in the dark the night before their wedding," she finished, a little lamely, perhaps.

He stared at her for several long, agonizing ticks. At last, just as she was beginning to jibber a little internally, he dropped his head and laughed a genuine laugh into the bag of snacks.

"Oh," he said, on a long sigh. "No wonder he likes you. I had wondered, a little."

"Er," said Ekaterin.

"You're right," he said, looking up again. He was not quite smiling, but something had eased about his mouth and eyes. Ekaterin let out a covert breath, aware only in its absence that he had carried a cloud of tense misery around him like a pressure front. "I should go to bed. Tomorrow will be . . . my wedding day." He did smile then.

"Good," she said, maintaining the firm tone with a small effort. "Shall I . . . help you upstairs?"

He never answered her. As he was sliding off the counter there came a sound which took Ekaterin several seconds to identify as the rubberized seal on one of the walk-in refrigerators giving way. One of the doors swung open, an opaque block in the dimness. A light should have come on when it opened, Ekaterin thought, with the part of her mind that hadn't quite caught up yet. A figure slipped out from the refrigerator, indistinct and utterly unidentifiable from across the dark room.

All three of them froze for a fraction of a second. Then things began happening very quickly. The Emperor made a small, indescribable sound and the fingers of one hand clamped onto the unobtrusive wristband he wore. Ekaterin lunged, muddy shoes sliding a little on the tile as she put her body between him and the my God was that an _assassin_ who had been lying in wait in the refrigerator? The Emperor was taller than her, she thought – was she supposed to get him down onto the floor, or should they run? Being ready to die for him was all well and good, she thought in a moment of sudden, poignant despair, but what was supposed to happen when you didn't know _how_?

Then the shadowy figure sprang into action, and darted across the kitchen . . . away from them. In a quiet patter of shoes it was gone out a small side exit.

The overhead lights snapped on and Ekaterin whirled, one hand coming up to shield her eyes. Armsmen, she saw, with a wave of relief enough to make her knees weak. Armsmen and blessed, wonderful ImpSec agents with their marvelous staring Horus-eyes.

"I'm fine," said the Emperor, as they were surrounded. He sounded extraordinarily calm.

"There was a . . . someone," said Ekaterin, and pointed helplessly from the door of the refrigerator to the exit.

Orders flew and men took off in all directions. A dozen more arrived, armed to the teeth and appearing mildly ridiculous in amongst the kitchen paraphernalia, as if they were readying to take down a dangerous appetizer rebellion.

"The food," said the Emperor suddenly. He was staring at the refrigerator, Ekaterin saw, even as they were both hurried from the room. "He was in there with the food for tomorrow." There was a strange, clinical sort of look on his face.

"We'll check it, Sire. If you could please . . ."

Ekaterin found herself swept along with him. They ended up in his own apartments, though she heard some undervoiced discussion of moving him to ImpSec HQ. He stood in the center of his sitting room, watching the controlled scramble around him through impenetrable eyes and speaking only when spoken to.

_Silent running_, thought Ekaterin, the term popping up out of Nikki's endless expositions. He was like a ship with half its vital systems shut down in a state of last ditch emergency or stealth, trying to limp by on dwindling resources or slide through a minefield of enemies undetected. There was such a flat, functionally vacant look behind his eyes, it gave her chills.

The furor finally began to die down about fifteen minutes later, after Ekaterin and the Emperor had both given their accounts and ImpSec had managed to convince itself that the Emperor was unharmed. There remained after that a mere five agents, two stationed outside the door and three inside the sitting room with them. The Emperor finally sank into a chair and leaned back. His face was very pale. Ekaterin discreetly asked one of the agents if she could fetch some water. He requested that she stay put and signaled for a servant.

General Allegre, rather more rumpled than Ekaterin had ever seen him, appeared about two minutes later, just behind the servant with the water pitcher.

"Sire," he said, and then, with some surprise, "Madame Vorsoisson."

The Emperor didn't say anything. Ekaterin poured him a glass of water, went over, and closed his fingers around it. He raised it rather mechanically to his mouth and drank. She looked up and saw General Allegre watching this byplay with considerable concern. He caught her eye and raised an eyebrow. She shrugged helplessly.

"We don't know anything yet, Sire," Allegre said, though the Emperor hadn't asked. "We're still searching the perimeter. I'm afraid," he added to Ekaterin, "that we must lockdown the Residence for the time being." She nodded.

"He can't have gotten far," the Emperor said at last. He glanced toward Ekaterin. "I'll have someone make up a guest room for you."

"I'm fine, Sire," she said. "I think I'll wait here with you for a bit, if you don't mind." Allegre shot her a grateful look.

"Let me know when you find anything," the Emperor said to Allegre, who nodded and bowed himself out. Ekaterin glanced uncertainly at the agents, and then seated herself on a chair a few feet away. There was a long stretch of silence. The Emperor finished his glass of water and Ekaterin poured him some more.

"Well," he said after quite awhile. "It finally happened. I'm almost relieved."

Ekaterin, who had been drifting off in her chair, snapped awake and tried to pull herself together. "What happened?" she asked, hoping her voice didn't sound sleep-rough.

"The . . . " The Emperor gestured with his glass. "The bad thing . . . I was expecting something, I just didn't know what." He sighed. "It was making me very tired, I think, waiting for that."

"Yes," Ekaterin said carefully. She could certainly see how constantly anticipating an impending disaster of some kind could be tiring. "But why? Sire –"

"Gregor," he corrected.

She swallowed, glanced nervously toward the agents. "Gregor," she said, "Miles is fine."

"For now," he said. He looked away. "It's just . . . it's not allowed."

"Um," she said. He looked better, she realized, but he was still very drunk. He was just sitting down now, so it wasn't quite as noticeable. It was alarming, but Ekaterin couldn't help thinking that perhaps it wasn't a terrible thing – she knew him well enough to know that this sort of confession was very uncharacteristic. It could only help, surely? "Drink more water, please, Gregor. What isn't allowed?"

"I'm not allowed to . . . keep people."

"Oh," said Ekaterin. She was struck by the shape of his sentences. He was not a man who was supposed to feel a victim; he was the one who acted on the universe, not the other way around.

"I wonder," he said speculatively. "Poison, in the dessert course perhaps. Thousands of guests to drop dead at once, the entire Komarran council, the Viceroys, the Betan President-elect, a galactic disaster? Or perhaps something more personal for my table alone, something special to make the wedding night truly unforgettable?"

"Stop it," said Ekaterin with unintended sharpness. He didn't seem to notice and she took a careful, calming breath. "You have a vivid imagination."

He shrugged. "I'm a student of history."

Ekaterin mouthed a silent _oh_. His story had been tragically romantic when she was a girl, royal father a hero of battle, beautiful princess mother cut down in the bloom of youth in a war for her son's throne. Up close it wasn't romantic, it was simply tragic. What lessons had he learned so young, what had the small child thought as he was spirited away by the doomed, loyal to the very last Captain Negri? She imagined her Nikki at five, alone in the world and everyone watching, and wanted to cry.

"He's made me so happy," he said, gazing almost appealingly at her. "And I'm . . ." _Terrified_, she heard, as clearly as though he'd spoken it.

"Gregor," she said, gently, and with no idea what she would say next. And she never did find out, because at that moment the door to the apartment swung open and in came Miles, followed by Ivan and then a string of his guests. They were babbling to each other, their voices incomprehensible and baffling to Ekaterin's ears, and they were all very, very drunk. Including Ivan, who stopped short at the sight of her, appearing distinctly flummoxed, and Miles, who made a beeline for his fiancé. The Emperor had paled at the onslaught and now looked as though he were wishing quite fervently that he were dead.

"Gregor, what is going on?" Miles asked, only tripping a little on his way over. He launched himself sloppily to a seat on the arm of Gregor's chair, clutching a bit desperately at him for balance. "Are you all right? You smell like wine." He gave the Emperor a reproachful look. "You should have come with us if you wanted to drink."

"There was someone in the kitchen," the Emperor said, apparently managing to untie his tongue. "In the refrigerator."

"Oh," Miles said, nonplussed. "That isn't good."

"No," the Emperor agreed. "And you, by the way, smell like whiskey."

"As well I should," Miles returned cheerfully, apparently sufficiently diverted from the topic of possible assassination.

"Miles," Admiral Quinn said loudly, "what is going on?"

"There was someone in the refrigerator," Miles relayed, and turned back to the Emperor.

Ekaterin thought they deserved a bit more of an explanation. "Someone was seen in the kitchens near the food. It's being checked for – for damage."

Miles turned. "Ekaterin, what are you doing here?"

_I'm sure I don't know_. "I came to check the gardens."

"Ah," Miles said, and eyed the Emperor shrewdly. "And stayed to drag Gregor's drunken ass up the stairs?"

"Well," she said awkwardly. "We detoured to the kitchen first."

Miles gave a snort of laughter, and leaned unselfconsciously into the Emperor's chest. The other guests were starting to make themselves at home in the sitting room, spreading out over the furniture. Flasks began appearing and changing hands with alarming rapidity. Ekaterin surveyed the scene and had a sudden but overwhelming sense of impending doom. The Emperor caught her eye and gave her a pleading look, as though _she_ were supposed to be able to do something.

"I'm sorry," Ivan said suddenly at her shoulder. He, too, smelled strongly of whiskey.

"Go . . . sit," she said, and stepped over to ask for several more pitchers of water. Then, with one last glance at Elli Quinn, who sat passing a flask back and forth with Bel Thorne, and a reassuring palm-down gesture to the Emperor, she slipped into the dim corridor. Surely there must be a private console somewhere about.

All the doors were closed. Ekaterin chewed her lip, debated, and kept walking. A dim light emanated from around a bend, and she hurried for it, relieved that she wouldn't have to go trying doors.

She pulled up short in the doorway, flushed, turned hastily away, then reconsidered and turned back. There was indeed a comconsole set into a cleverly cabineted desk in the corner, across the room from the bed. Ekaterin took a fortifying breath, quite as uncomfortable as she could ever remember being, and tiptoed across the pale carpeting. The room was obsessively neat, she couldn't help noticing. Ekaterin preferred a bit of comfortable clutter, herself, and it lightened her heart to see a few tiny hints of casual occupation – a handviewer tossed crookedly on one nightstand, a pair of boots too small for the Emperor peeking out from beneath the other side of the bed. Ekaterin looked determinedly away, and sat gingerly at the comconsole.

She found Lady Alys's number in the Emperor's address book, an intimidating directory of every high government official, business leader, and person of prominence in the empire. She hesitated only a moment before entering the code, remembering the look on the Emperor's face. She had no idea how to handle such a situation; she doubted that Lady Alys's extensive training had covered anything like it, but she would know how to cope with the utmost taste nevertheless.

Ekaterin had occasionally wondered what Lady Alys would look like after being woken in the middle of the night. She answered the comconsole wearing no makeup, naturally, but it seemed to make little difference. Her long dark hair was tumbled over her shoulders in a way that was quite elegant. And she looked annoyed.

"Madame Vorsoisson, why aren't you in bed?" she asked, a bit snappishly. And then, after a brief pause, "And why are you calling from Gregor's private comconsole?"

"Lady Alys, I'm so sorry to bother you, but I'm at the Residence and there's a bit of a . . . situation." Quickly she outlined the incident in the kitchen and then the scene in the next room. She left out Gregor's wine-induced candor. "I don't know what to do," she said at last. "I think the Emperor would really like to just take a sleeptimer and go to bed."

"He should have been asleep hours ago," Lady Alys sighed. "Sometimes, that boy . . ." She bit off whatever she was going to say. "Have someone make up a few guest rooms," she instructed. "And then break up the party and be very firm about it."

"I shouldn't try and get them to go back to Vorkosigan House, then?"

"No," she said, "no. It will be hours until ImpSec lets them go. I'll arrange to have everyone's clothes brought over to the Residence tomorrow morning. Make sure Miles and Gregor both take sleeptimers. I suppose there's no chance of getting them to sleep in separate rooms . . ."

"Um," said Ekaterin, remembering the way Miles had touched him with such casual unselfconsciousness. She suspected he might be the only person to ever do so. All things considered, perhaps that was just what the Emperor needed tonight.

"No, I thought not. Unconventional, but then, so many things about them are." She sighed. "Can you handle all that or do I need to come over?"

Ekaterin bit her lip. "I can do it," she said at last.

"Good." Lady Alys looked pleased. "And get some sleep yourself. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yes. Thank you, Lady Alys." Ekaterin cut the com and steeled herself. Then she went out and spoke to one of the ImpSec agents, who passed the word along. In very short order an appropriate number of rooms had been made up. Ekaterin then dispatched the servants to show the guests to their rooms; luckily they had started to slow down by then on their own, and most of them went yawning and willing. Ekaterin sensed the Emperor's relief once Elli Quinn had been escorted out of the room, and felt her own covert release of breath. Finally there were only herself, Ivan, the Emperor, and Miles, who sat drowsing against the Emperor's arm.

"Thank you," the Emperor said. He looked painfully sober.

"Take a sleeptimer," she replied. Ivan came and placed his hand on the small of her back. She hesitated briefly and then added, "And have good dreams." He nodded.

"All I wanted to do was check the gardens," Ekaterin groaned, once she and Ivan were alone in a guest room. She stripped down to her underwear, checked the time, and groaned again. So much for a good night's sleep. "Did you have a good time?" she asked Ivan peevishly.

"Yes," he said, apparently still too drunk to notice her tone. But he certainly caught the expression on her face, because he added quickly, "Though not as good as if you had been with us."

"Hmm," she said, mollified. She stretched out on the bed and let Ivan take care of turning the lights out. He lay down and draped an arm over her side. She thought she would sleep at once, but she didn't. Instead she lay in the dark, eyes open, and thought about the ache in the Emperor's voice as he had considered the worst possibilities, and his quiet bleakness. She imagined him holding Miles in the dark, wondering always if it would be the last time – for she was certain that those thoughts came to him nightly.

She thought she could have cheerfully slapped Elli Quinn.

*~*~*

 

Ekaterin woke much earlier than she would have liked, and lay for a moment, completely disoriented. The room was dim with watery, early morning light. She had slept about five hours, and Ivan appeared to be sleeping the deep sleep of the soon-to-be hung over. She contemplated rolling over and closing her eyes again, but then she realized that she had actually been woken by a soft knock at the door. She got up quickly and pulled the top blanket off the bed to wrap around herself so she could poke her head out the door.

It was an ImpSec sergeant. "I'm sorry to wake you, Madame Vorsoisson," he said, "but the Emperor requests your presence."

"Oh," she said. "Yes, just a moment." He nodded; she shut the door and dressed quickly. Ivan never so much as moved.

The sergeant led her to the Emperor's private apartment, bowed her inside, and took his leave. Inside the sitting room were Miles, the Emperor, General Allegre and Miles's security man, Inceri, and, to Ekaterin's surprise, Lady Alys. They were all clutching their coffee cups firmly.

"Sorry to wake you," Miles said, as Ekaterin came in and seated herself. "Coffee?"

"It's fine," Ekaterin said, accepting a cup. "Does this mean that you've figured out what happened?"

"Yes," General Allegre said. "Or, well . . . not exactly."

"Guy, it is much too early," the Emperor began wearily.

"Yes, sorry, Sire." Allegre paused, looking almost embarrassed. "Sire, it was your cook."

There was a moment of incredulous silence. "I'm sorry?" the Emperor said blankly.

"The person you saw exiting the refrigerator was your cook," Allegre said again, rather carefully.

"I don't understand," the Emperor said. "That makes no sense. Why was Trillian in there with all the lights off? Why did he run when we saw him? I mean, the kitchen is his, really, there was no reason for him to hide . . ." He trailed off, apparently catching the look of dawning comprehension on Miles's face.

"The refrigerator that was broken into," Miles said. "It held the desserts, didn't it?" Allegre nodded. "Ma Kosti's work," he said, as though it were a conclusion.

The confusion lifted from the Emperor's eyes – but then he shook his head. "I just don't . . . are you sure?"

"He approached us," Allegre said. "Confessed, as it were. He seemed quite terrified."

"Oh," the Emperor said. "Did he say why?"

General Allegre spread his hands. "He was worried about his job, afraid that you'd let him go after the wedding and take on Lord Vorkosigan's cook instead."

"So he set out to destroy her desserts?" Miles said, indignantly.

Lady Alys added, even more sharply, "_Did_ he destroy them?"

"He apparently added a good deal of salt to the frosting that's supposed to go on the cakes," Allegre said, with all the gravity of a man discussing battle armament.

"Oh," said Lady Alys with relief. "That, we can fix."

"Where is he now?" the Emperor asked.

"We have him in custody," Allegre said, "but there's really not much of a reason to hold him. With your permission . . ."

"Let him go," the Emperor sighed. "Tell him . . . tell him I want to speak to him. Tomorrow."

"Yes, Sire," Allegre said, and he and Inceri bowed themselves out.

Lady Alys sighed. "Well, this is unfortunate. But at least it was only the frosting and not the cakes themselves." She stood. "I'll take care of things. Oh, Madame Vorsoisson, I called your aunt and uncle this morning and let them know where you were. Someone is bringing your dress over now."

"Oh no," Ekaterin said, covering her mouth with her hand, "I completely forgot to call them last night! I hope they weren't worried."

"They understood, once I explained the situation." She paused in the doorway. "You did well," she added. "My thanks."

Miles waited a beat after his aunt had left, and then turned to Ekaterin, his eyebrows raised. "High praise," he said. "I wish I could remember what you did."

"Nothing, really," she said, shaking her head.

"No, Alys is right. You handled everything very well," the Emperor said. "I shudder to think what would have happened if you hadn't been there."

She pictured the scene and winced. "I just did what Lady Alys told me to when I called."

"But you did it with flair," Miles said. "Or at least I think you did." He frowned briefly and then added, "Hey, where's Ivan?"

"Unconscious," Ekaterin said without thinking.

Miles quirked an eyebrow at her. "I see." He drummed his fingers on the tabletop for a moment, smiled a distinctly evil smile, and said, "I'll be back in a bit."

"Where are you going?" the Emperor asked.

Miles paused, turned, and smirked. "Paying Ivan back for a wake-up call or two." Ekaterin could hear him whistling down the hallway.

"Oh dear," she said. "That . . . can't be good."

"Probably not," the Emperor agreed, but he was smiling. "Breakfast?"

A servant brought groats and left a large basket of fruit in the middle of the table before withdrawing. Ekaterin let a slightly more generous than usual portion of butter melt on her groats before she took a bite. The Emperor peeled an orange and began taking apart its segments. Ekaterin hesitated for a long moment, watching him. "Are you feeling better, Sire?" she finally asked.

His hands stilled. "I'm sorry you had to see that," he said, which was not, she knew, an answer.

"Don't apologize," she said. "Everyone is sad sometimes."

He sighed. "It's been a bit more than sometimes, lately." He ate a segment of orange, swallowed, and said, "It used to be that the only people I could talk to about this were Miles and his mother. It's not generally good for word to get out that the Emperor is chronically depressed."

"No, I imagine not."

"But I can't talk to them about this. Miles is still recovering. And Cordelia has her own problems right now. I can't burden them with this." He looked down at the pile of orange peel. "I am profoundly grateful you were there last night."

"Me too," she said. She was silent for a moment, thinking. "When I was married the first time," she said at last, "I tried to learn not to show anything. I tried to lock myself up very tight all the time, so he couldn't use my emotions against me. I never quite succeeded, and for a while it made me so angry with myself, that I couldn't just turn off the need to have someone near me. I wanted someone to hold me at night, and I didn't want that person to be him, but he was all I had and I just couldn't . . . stop it." She twirled her spoon around in her dish briefly, and then looked across the table and met his eyes. "And now I'm glad I couldn't turn it off, because I think it would have been very hard to turn it back on. And I think . . . I think that you can't live your life afraid of feeling too much."

"Because it's worse not to feel anything at all?" The Emperor slumped a bit. "There have been times in my life when I would have welcomed a certain . . . numbness."

"Is now one of those times?"

Slowly he shook his head. "No," he said. "Not for all the world. But it's . . . difficult."

"Of course it is," she said, surprising even herself. "It hasn't been easy for Ivan and me, either. Slowly but surely, though, I think we're . . . going somewhere."

The Emperor smiled faintly. "I haven't had to worry about where I was going for the last four years. Miles just sort of swept me along. We had this . . . I guess you could call it a strategy meeting, years ago, when it was all just beginning. In the kitchen, actually. He just laid it all out, our entire life at my feet . . . It was the first time I truly realized that I could love him and do my duty at the same time."

Ekaterin said nothing for a moment. "Sire," she said at last. "I think you need to talk to Miles about this."

He shook his head, looking down at his hands. Ekaterin was suddenly aware of how excruciating this was for him, to show so much, and she couldn't help wondering why showing it to her was easier.

"Do you really think he doesn't know already?" She frowned at him. "He's very worried about you, you know. He said as much to me at the party the other night."

The Emperor rubbed a hand over his face. "I didn't mean to . . . damn."

She pushed her bowl of groats away and stood up decisively. "You have a few hours yet. I'd suggest taking advantage of them."

She met Miles on the way back to her room. His gleefully malicious expression drained away suddenly at the look on her face. "Is everything all right?"

Ekaterin nodded. "I think he's ready to talk to you."

"Ah." Miles straightened. "Good. Thank you."

Ivan was in the bathroom when Ekaterin returned. She firmly decided not to ask why there was a generous helping of ice spilled over half the room and melting on the carpet. She sat for a moment on the bed staring at the dress, which had been delivered and laid out in her absence. She traced the embroidered edging with her finger and ran a hand over the soft fabric of the bodice. "Beautiful illusions," she murmured.

"Did you say something?" Ivan asked.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw him standing in the doorway, towel wrapped around his waist. Reflexively, she spent a moment admiring him. He noticed and threw her a smile that was awfully close to a smirk. "You're dripping all over the floor," she said, forcing herself to look away.

He shrugged unrepentantly and shoved the dress over to sit next to her on the bed. "So, Gregor's cook."

"Apparently." She shook her head. "I almost feel sorry for the man."

They fell into an awkward silence. Ekaterin thought of and dismissed a dozen things to say, and could almost see Ivan doing the same. She thought about the Emperor, about Miles, about strategy sessions in the Imperial Kitchen, about what it meant to be going somewhere. About what it meant to be going there with someone. About how it would feel to suddenly lose that direction, that certainty, and then imagined with frightening clarity how it would feel for Ivan to suddenly disappear from her life. She wondered when he had become not only an enjoyable distraction, but a truly integral part of the pattern of her days. "You've been very patient with me," she said suddenly.

Ivan raised his eyebrows, and then frowned. "That's not how I thought about it."

"I know. But you have been." She paused, chewing briefly on her lip. "I think we should get married," she said at last.

"Er . . . now?"

"No, not now!" she said, laughing suddenly. "One wedding today is quite enough, thank you. I don't even necessarily mean anytime in the next _year_. But . . . eventually, I think I would like to marry you."

"You think?" he said.

"Yes. I think."

"Well," Ivan said, and then stopped. "That wasn't quite the proposal I had imagined."

She waved an airy hand. "Oh, there's still time for you to do it right. We could consider this a . . . pre-engagement."

"Which means . . . ?"

Ekaterin sighed. "It means that I'll stop punishing you when your mother talks about us getting married and hints about grandchildren. It means I'll put up with the social lessons. It means we can start . . . negotiating."

"I see."

"If you agree, of course," Ekaterin said quickly, suddenly seized by the horrible thought that perhaps he _wasn't_ so sure. Maybe he had bought the house because he liked the house and everyone – including her – had been reading too much into it. Maybe he didn't actually love her – they had never said it after all. Maybe . . .

"Of course I agree," he said. "I bought you a _house_!"

"You bought _you_ a house," she corrected swiftly.

"Right. Of course, I'd forgotten." He was laughing at her now, but he reached out and took her hand, lifted it to his lips. She reached for him and kissed him soundly; his hand tangled very pleasingly in her hair.

The moment of privacy was short-lived. They were soon wrenched apart by the necessities of the day, and Ekaterin hurried off about her last minute duties with a curious, uncommon lightness to her heart. Ivan, still looking a little pale and fragile from his overindulgence the night before, promised to find her again and escort her to her place in the spectators, which he carried out despite her protests that her aunt and uncle and Kareen and Mark would be right there with her. He was already in his finery as they cut through the gathering crowd, and Ekaterin saw more than one head turn to track their progress – his, rather. She tucked her hand more firmly through his arm, biting her lip to conceal a swell of something that felt suspiciously like smugness. _He's handsome and kind and loyal and amusing and he loves me_.

He deposited her with a flourish and a kiss, then hurried away to attend upon Miles, already installed in the guesthouse from which he would emerge during the ceremony. Ekaterin greeted the people she knew – a surprising number, as it turned out – and settled in to wait. The sky was clear and blue, the high summer heat tempered by a soft, easterly wind. Ekaterin wondered with some suspicion if there hadn't been a little tampering with the weather. Not all those satellites were just for monitoring, after all.

The garden swelled with people, and yet still more streamed behind. Ekaterin, who had been nervous to the point of nausea to see the small crowd of twenty at her own wedding, held her hands down at her sides so as to not chew her nails.

And then Lady Alys glided to her place, and it was time. A hush fell, so profound that Ekaterin could hear the shuffling and murmuring of the great crowds waiting outside the grounds, packed twenty deep in the street with no hope of seeing much at all in person but wanting to be close anyway. A calculated risk had been authorized in allowing holovids to be taken and broadcasted in real-time all over the Empire. Even now, giant viewing screens erected on the intersections of major boulevards would be showing them all, standing and craning for the first glimpse.

The full score of Vorbarra Armsmen emerged first and ranged themselves in a double row up the aisle Miles and Gregor would take. And then the Emperor, lean and upright as his lovely gray horse stepped out. Henri Vorvolk paced at its head as they took a winding path around the outskirts of the crowd, then abandoned his post to go hammer on the guesthouse door and demand Miles's presence. The part did not suit him particularly well, and Ekaterin was not the only one to suppress a titter behind her hand.

Miles emerged, Ivan at his back, and his own horse was brought forward. Ivan offered him a hand up, but Miles ignored him and swung easily up into the saddle. Out of the corner of her eye Ekaterin saw Lady Alys suck in a quick breath. Miles was under the strictest orders not to wrinkle himself too badly before even making it into the wedding circle.

Miles settled himself, then leaned over and said something to the patiently waiting Gregor. Ekaterin was too far away to hear, but, reading his gestures, she rather suspected he was asking whether Gregor thought their horses could jump the garden wall if they took it at a fast enough run. Gregor laughed, then said something that made the nervous, jocular curl of Miles's mouth melt into something soft and a little wondering. And then Ivan, standing between the two horses, raised his arm and tapped his chrono at them with a remark that made them both glare.

The horses paced slowly up the aisle side by side, Seconds leading and the rest of the wedding party bringing up the rear. The two animals were luckily not sedated to the point of total gormlessness, Ekaterin saw. She wondered, as the party came abreast of her, if anyone had put thought to what to do if one of the animals decided to make a snack out of the profusion of flowers strewn about, most notably in every lady's hair. Lady Alys had thought of it, Ekaterin had no doubt.

But the party arrived at the circle without incident, and the Count and Countess and the Koudelkas took their places. Gregor swung down, and then deviated from the script as he circled his horse's head. He waved away Ivan, who had been about to offer his bent knee as a mounting block, and supplied his own cupped hands to the task. Miles arched an eyebrow as if to say, "oh you do, do you?" but placed his small boot there and swung down with no fuss. Probably this was the only time Miles would have ever taken that without comment, and Ekaterin thought for the hundredth time that Gregor was a clever, clever man. He ought to be, for this day if no other.

And then they were all there inside the circle, and Ivan kicked it shut, and Ekaterin felt herself and every other person in the audience drop from attention. It was all very quick after that, simple and direct, and so plainly fervent in the strong clasp of their hands, the quiet certainty of their voices that Ekaterin was not the only one to brush hurriedly at her eyes. Ivan was facing her across the circle, and she watched him watching them. Was that longing she read in his face? It was, she decided, longing and not a little hope.

And then it was over, and a great sigh rose up from the crowd as several thousand pent-up breaths were expelled. Ivan stepped forward first, shook both their hands and slapped his cousin on the back with a quick, brusque mutter. The Countess abandoned decorum and hugged them both to her, bending to kiss her son's cheek. And then the circle was broken, and they came parading back out. The waiting Armsmen moved as one to draw their swords, present, and salute as the Emperor and Mi – the Prince Consort – passed between them.

And it was done.

"All right," said Ivan, appearing at her shoulder as the crowd began to shift and speak. "Now we can start drinking."

And drink they did. Or some of them, anyway. Ekaterin noticed that neither the Emperor nor his Prince Consort overindulged. Predictably, others were not nearly so sensible. Many of them were potted enough by dinner that the large hall, elaborately decorated for Midsummer, rang incoherently with drunken voices and the occasional backwoods drinking song. Ekaterin, separated from Ivan for the duration of the meal, caught his eye at the high table. They exchanged a smile, and he lifted his glass to her in a gallant toast.

Dinner itself, she was glad to see, seemed to have come out unscathed. It was delicious, all seven courses of it, and the frosting on the cake bore no hint of salt. Ma Kosti took her bow along with an abruptly promoted and very harried young cook, and was enthusiastically received.

After dinner, the festivities went on – and on and on – in the gardens and the ballroom. They would keep going until dawn, Ekaterin knew, though she hoped that Ivan wouldn't want to stay the whole time. She suspected that he'd want to retire to more private celebrations not too long after the Emperor and Miles. Around midnight she found herself on her own, trying to re-locate Ivan after having lost him during an elaborate dance that involved changing partners every few beats. She stood on tiptoe, wincing at the pinch of her shoes and trying to stifle a yawn, and peered over the crowd.

"I think I saw Ivan by the bar with Miles," the Emperor said from behind her. He gestured with his wine glass.

Ekaterin followed his gaze. "Ah," she said. She glanced hesitantly at the Emperor, who continued to watch Miles, his lips quirked unconsciously in a soft smile. "Did you talk to him?"

He glanced back at her. "I did," he said. "He said . . . he said we won, and I should stop looking over my shoulder for the surprise attack."

"How romantic," Ekaterin said dryly.

The Emperor laughed. "He's remarkably romantic when he wants to be. In this case though, I find his military metaphor very apt. And anyway, we're off tomorrow for the tour, which should be fairly relaxing."

"Good," Ekaterin said. "You need it. Both of you," she added.

"Indeed." He sipped his wine and raised his eyebrows at her. "And I hear we might have another wedding . . . eventually."

"Yes," she said firmly, "eventually. Probably."

"Hedging your bets?"

"Well," she said, "this is Ivan we are talking about."

The Emperor laughed. "Madame Vorsoisson, I think you have Ivan very thoroughly conquered. All you need to do is say when."

"I don't know when it happened really," Ekaterin sighed. "I did my very best _not_ to conquer him, I assure you."

"Oh," he said wryly, "in my experience that is entirely secondary."

"Apparently," she agreed, happily.

Ivan and Miles appeared then. Ivan handed Ekaterin a fresh glass of wine and claimed her hand for his arm. "Are you two getting ready to blow out of here?" he asked Miles, glancing at his chrono.

"Half-past midnight," Miles said with satisfaction. "ImpSec has a timetable. I think Gregor would have to give an Imperial order if we wanted to stay longer."

"Wonderful. Then we can leave soon, too."

"You just got me this," Ekaterin said, holding up her glass.

"Yes, well, drink quickly." He leaned in and whispered in her ear, "We have much better things to do than watch the Council of Counts drink itself numb."

It was a testament to ImpSec's impeccable adherence to its timetables that Miles and the Emperor managed to get away on time. Ekaterin, smiling and a little misty-eyed, watched them go. Ivan danced one final dance with her and then called immediately for the car. Considering how little sleep she'd gotten the night before, Ekaterin hardly minded. Not that she was likely to sleep much this night either.

On the walkway up to Ivan's house, Ekaterin suddenly found herself swept up, clear off her feet. Ivan carried her, laughing, into the house and kicked the door shut on all his agents, who were, she was afraid, watching the goings on with some amusement. He kissed her in the foyer, a long, intense kiss that stole her breath away. But then, instead of leading her into the bedroom as she had fully expected, he grabbed her hand and took her on a tour of the house. "The tour I _wanted_ to give you, when I showed it to you before I bought it," he said. They went through the house room by room, and Ekaterin was half-elated and half-frightened to understand in a way she hadn't before that if the pattern of her days had started to meld itself around Ivan, then he was about six steps ahead of her. The very pattern of his _future_ was tied up in her, in her desires and her needs and her dreams and goals. The room he wanted to make into a greenhouse, the room he thought would be Nikki's, the room he wanted to be her library and study . . . and the room, a bit smaller and very near the master suite, which he said he hoped they'd find some way to fill.

"I want a girl this time," she said, leaning against the doorway.

"You could have two," he pointed out.

_Sisters_. Ekaterin shivered enviously. "We'll see," she said. She turned and looked at him, pulled him down for a kiss. For tonight, at least, the future could wait.

_Fin._


End file.
